I'll Be There For You
by itslivinginallofus
Summary: Quinn's had it with Santana being a different person out in the world than she is behind closed doors. Not a great summary, I know, but don't let that deter you! Please read and review! Quinn/Santana, Santana/Quinn, Quinn/Santana, Quinntana, Quintana
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I own zero rights to Glee.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, everyone! Thanks for clicking on this! I love this pairing and in an attempt to add more (hopefully quality) Quinntana to the fanfic world, I'm trying my hand at them for a second time. This story is the result of a songfic shuffle drabble and is based on a Bon Jovi song of the same title. Currently rated M for language and overall adult themes. Please read and review as you feel compelled, reviews keep me motivated! More to come soon!**

The popping sound of the cork flying out of the 2nd bottle of wine rang in Santana's ears like the crack of a gunshot on a lazy Sunday night. She callously tossed the corkscrew to the side, knowing she wasn't above crawling to find wherever the hell she'd flung it when she was ready for bottle number 3. Or 4. Or whatever amount of alcohol was required to rid her of the unrelenting ache in her chest that her slamming heart was intensifying with each beat.

She really fucked up this time.

She knew it as soon as she heard the corner of Quinn's boxy suitcase ricochet off the doorframe of their bedroom. The blonde had stormed out more times than she could count after Santana had said something admittedly cold-hearted, but never with luggage. She took a sip of the dark purple elixir straight from the bottle, closing her eyes as it bitterly burned its way down her throat.

She had heard the same sad song over and over: the scratchy, skipping vinyl spinning the repeated broken chord of how Quinn couldn't handle being in a relationship with "two people." It had been the blonde's favorite metaphor to explain how the Santana that the world knew and the Santana behind closed doors were creatures all their own. Memories of the days and nights that this dissident tune had played the loudest now assaulted Santana's inebriated senses as she pulled a pillow tightly over her head in a futile attempt to drown out all the yesterdays she could not buy back...

_On the 24th day of the 12th month in 2019, Santana half-knew she was crazy to hope that she could tiptoe inside unnoticed at 11:47 PM. Her stride inside the door was long, pressure resting on pointed toes to avoid her business heel clicking on the marble kitchen floor. Even from the bedroom, which was a good 100 feet from the entrance, Quinn's freakishly good hearing always seemed to permeate the distance – unless she was in a deep sleep, which was what the Latina was banking on._

_With a painstakingly careful merging of the door with its jamb, the barely-audible click allowed Santana to breathe a deep sigh of relief as she pressed her forehead to the door and prepared to cross the apartment just as quietly._

"_So, you're not dead."_

_The sentence that emerged from the almost complete darkness of the living room dropped Santana's heart to the floor and almost sent her body on the same descent. Internally, she cursed at Quinn for scaring the living shit out of her, but she was definitely smart enough to know that she was in no position to raise her voice in any way aloud._

_The row of 3 small tea lights flickering on the coffee table that her peripheral vision must have missed at first illuminated enough of Quinn at a second glance to reveal that she was wearing the dress that Santana had left wrapped and bowed in a box for her before leaving for work that morning. Beside her on the couch were unidentifiable books, some that appeared to be photo albums, and a plate and napkin on the arm rest suggested that the blonde had long ago eaten dinner without her._

_Hoping that a few sincere – albeit ass-covering – words and compliments could still save the evening, Santana moved over to the empty side of the couch, leaning in toward Quinn. "Wow. You look stunning –"_

"_- 'Cause ordinarily when someone comes home almost 6 hours late after swearing on their life that they'll be there on time, and their cell phone goes straight to voicemail, a reasonable conclusion would be that something was horribly wrong. Or the person just didn't care about the promise they made. Whichever," the blonde continued sarcastically._

_The blood rushing under Santana's skin started to get hot. She had to try again. "Babe, I'm here now." Almost immediately she wished she hadn't when Quinn raised a single eyebrow, her non-verbal way of saying "you've got to be fucking kidding me," and stood from the couch._

"_Yeah, well I'm going to bed, so good night."_

_Instantly, Santana was likewise on her feet, since she knew her girlfriend enough to know that the conversation wasn't really over._

"_Quinn, I'm so sorry –"_

"_You KNEW how important tonight was! How much I needed you!" the hazel-eyed girl replied quickly._

_Another moment of brief silence hung heavily in the air as Santana had no choice but to accept the truth that was too blatant to ignore. She couldn't deny how important that day being both Christmas Eve and Quinn's 25__th__ birthday was, because there simply was no denying it. She also couldn't deny how much she knew the blonde needed her on that birthday in particular. Quinn's 25__th__ was one they had both been anticipating for years._

_It was an anticipation that started with Russell and Judy Fabray. _

_Even though she was too young to consciously recognize the unhealthiness of unrelenting parental pressure, Santana never liked the way Quinn's parents talked to her from as early as she could remember. It was a strange combination of far too formal for a child, yet far too demeaning for a human. They were indubitably clear about their daughter's life plans: for college, she would attend both Russell and Judy's alma mater, Case Western Reserve University and graduate at the top of her class with a degree in Business. If unlike Judy she didn't meet a suitable man/her future husband during her collegiate years, they of course already had sons of family friends already mentally lined up and likely a fat check away from an under-the-table arranged marriage. Married by 22, 24 at the latest, first child by 25. _

_For Quinn, her first child came quite a bit earlier._

_Santana, who began dating Quinn shortly after the birth of her daughter, recalled feeling hopeful that at the very least, the blonde would no longer have to bear the tight, at times dehumanizing grasp, of her parents any longer. That silver lining quickly turned to gray, however, when the constant harassment, both from afar and in person, began. The uninvited home visits and public approaches ended when Quinn and Santana left the prison of Lima and moved to New York when they were both 18 (as they had vowed to each other they would do when they visited for the first time for nationals), but the threatening, hurtful phone calls continued as recently as a few days earlier – detailing everything from exactly where Quinn would end up, to heartbreaking hypotheticals about her daughter Beth living life without her biological mother because of her own poor choices, to politically incorrect insults about she and Santana's long-standing relationship. The most recent call included a bitter reminder, from Russell, about what Quinn's life was supposed to be at age 25, including "a child of love" as he meticulously stressed._

_Unable to counter Quinn's accusation, Santana thought she'd try her hand at a different approach; one she had been considered bringing up several times before. "I know, baby, you're right. I just wish your parents didn't have so much power over you after all these years."_

_As well-intentioned and earnest as the statement was, it only stood to ignite the emotion-fueled battle as Quinn raked her fingernails through her blonde roots in frustration. "Do NOT make this about my parents or what you think I should be feeling. That is so not the issue here, and you know it. This is about you breaking your word, and how regardless of the fact that it is both a tough birthday for me AND Christmas Eve, you should have been here when you said you would."_

_Brown eyes darting back and forth at a near-immeasurable pace, Santana could feel her heart rate spike as she tried to internally console herself to calm down. She was sorry, but more than anything, she hated feeling cornered, especially since as far as reasons for being late go, she had a good one as far as she was concerned._

"_Look, I know you're pissed, and I so don't blame you, but it's not like I blew you off to go out on the town. I was working!" Santana responded, flirting dangerously with more trouble._

_Quinn took a step toward her girlfriend, dipping her head down toward the other girl's mouth and already cluing Santana into where this was headed. "Tell me, does work always come with cocktails on the side?"_

"_I __was__ working on our priority clients account until 8:30 when Jerry announced an impromptu company Christmas party at the Marriott," Santana said of her boss, hoping the sarcasm in her voice would indicate how she was no more thrilled with his bullshit than Quinn was. "I didn't have a choice."_

_Quinn's laugh rippled suddenly through sound waves, but it wasn't the genuine laugh that Santana was adored. It was somewhere between fed up and frustrated, and the expression she wore matched it perfectly. "Did you even tell Jerry before you went in that you had to be home early for a prior engagement?"_

_Silence. Santana was capable of a lot of shitty things in the heat of an argument, but consciously lying wasn't one of them. _

_The blonde sighed this time, the answer she had feared being confirmed. "See… you always say you didn't have a choice, and I've always been more than understanding in return. But I asked you for one night. One night to come home and make me the priority for once. Not work. Not Jerry. Me. I mean, I know you've convinced yourself that telling your co-workers about you and I is professional suicide, but since it IS a holiday all on its own, I deluded myself into thinking you could at least lie and say you had a non-descript, second cousin variety family obligation. But I guess the work Santana will always trump the home Santana, no matter how many promises you swear to keep."_

_It was a theory the Latina always regarded with a scoff and an eye roll, especially since in her defense, it was nothing new. In high school, everyone knew the sass-giving, boy-teasing bitch who could reduce anyone who crossed her to nothingness with a quick, acidic tongue and sharp, piercing glare. Only Quinn knew the much-concealed truth, which was that the same venomous vixen that McKinley High feared was also an incredible painter. Mostly nature scenes and landscapes, but some still-life and portraits as well. That she loved both chick flicks and action movies and could literally watch her favorites on a continuous loop for days, sometimes even months. That her romantic expressions included singing soft, raspy love songs directly in Quinn's ear, nibbling on the shell in between long phrases. That she was, perhaps most surprisingly, phenomenal with children, and handled her own younger brother and sister with more loving and care than Quinn had ever seen anyone duplicate. Since moving to New York, graduating from Fordham, and working her way to becoming the sole Marketing Analyst – and sole female in any position of power, for that matter – for a major software firm, the "sides" took a slightly different form. The side that her colleagues knew was a closeted, ass-kissing, ass-busting workaholic who would gladly answer "how high?" to her boss' "jump!" The side reserved for Quinn was still infused with romanticism, only now with the means for grander gestures such as impromptu day trips, expensive meals, and lavish gift baskets on Santana's salary which had just moved into the low 6 figures._

_However, this time she saved her normal contesting of Quinn's theory, such as her need to work 10 times as hard in a predominantly male field and how everything she's doing is in the interest of protecting what they have, because she knew that her girlfriend was not in the mood for rehashing of any sort. Before she could come up with a reply, the blonde continued to speak._

"_You know what the worst part is? When my parents started their siege of opinions on my life and its tragically downward spiral, I kept telling myself 'It doesn't matter what they think, as long as I'm happy, and I know I can be. I have Santana, and together we'll show them. One day when we get our own place and get married… and have a baby of our own. A baby that will be thoughtfully and purposefully brought into this world to parents who love him or her and only want what's best. And even though over the years, I saw the likelihood of marriage and a baby flicker more and more out of sight, even though since giving up Beth all I've wanted was another chance, I still clung to the thought that YOU were the one happiness that no one could touch or take away from me. Well, I didn't feel that today. At all. And it scares me," Quinn finished her long-winded statement with a deep breath as a single tear began a chilly decline against her cheek._

_That scared Santana, too. Shitless, in fact. She couldn't tell whether her heart was beating more quickly or slowly, but the pain of whichever irregular pattern was taking over her chest was making breathing, and thinking, difficult. There was nothing more on earth she wanted than to make Quinn happy, and based on everything she just said, there was one surefire way to prove that to be so._

"_So, why don't we then?" Santana inquired softly._

_Quinn raised an eyebrow again, this time curiously. "Why don't we what?"_

"_Have a baby. You know, start a real family," Santana clarified, the gravity of her words hitting the both of them identically._

_Another less-than-joyful laugh escaped the fair-skinned girl. "Are you kidding? We both work, we're not married, unless we count you being married to your job, where they don't even know about me, we'd need –"_

_For the first time all night, Santana felt safe enough to interject. "Babe," she began, gripping both of her girlfriend's hands in her own, "is there any reason why we __shouldn't__ do this that outweighs all the reasons why we __should__ do this?"_

_Visibly, the coldness melted from Quinn's features and neither of them could repress the small smiles of excitement and relief that overcame them both. "So… you're serious about this? You really want to consider having a baby?"_

_Now confident, Santana inched even closer, rubbing her thumbs over the surface of Quinn's palms. "I don't want to consider it. I want to do it," she corrected with another dimpled grin._

_Quinn returned with one of her own before giving way to a more serious expression. "Now, you realize that we're going to have a lot to talk about. Logistics aside, we'll have to work out provisions and budget and everything to make sure we're ready for this."_

_Santana held up a finger and retrieved her palm pilot from her front pocket with her other hand, turning it on and scrolling through her datebook. "How about we set up a dinner meeting for you, me, and Chelsea to go over all the legal angles and options. I'm sure she could even help us with budget," Santana suggested, comparing her schedule against Chelsea, her lawyer's. Upon Quinn's eager nod, Santana saw an opening on January 21__st__, and made a note in her calendar immediately, hoping that it wouldn't re-annoy Quinn that the meeting wouldn't happen until almost a month later. It was clear, however, based on the first genuine smile of the evening, that the blonde had long since moved past timing discrepancies._

_After Santana announced that the scheduling had been made, Quinn thrilled her by leaning forward and placing a feather-light kiss on her lips. "You know, this is by far the best Christmas AND birthday present I could ask for. Seriously, if there was nothing to unwrap, I would still be perfectly content."_

_Bright white teeth nearly glowed in contrast to raven hair as Santana smiled and leaned in for a kiss of her own. "I'm glad, beautiful," she charmed. "But don't think I'm returning any of the gifts I bought you," she jested, the mood continuing to brighten by the second. She had to keep going while she was on a roll. "Do you know what I want my gift to be?" she asked, pulling Quinn by the waist so that their hips were touching._

_A contented exhale left Quinn's lips. "Hmm?"_

_Santana glanced at her palm pilot to confirm that it was in fact past midnight. "A Christmas dance with the mother of my future child. Would you be so kind?"_

_Unable to resist her girlfriend's dorky chivalry, Quinn locked her hands around Santana's shoulders, pressing her forehead against the other girl's as they swayed back and forth to the love song that Santana sang in Quinn's ear._

Santana choked back an interrupted cry along with a larger gulp of wine as the tragic irony hit her. Neither of them had any way of knowing that when January 21st finally came, not only would they be leaving the Russian Tea Room without legal advice, options, and a plan, but that in the hour to follow, Quinn would walk out for good, with only her suitcase saying good bye…

"_Jesus Christ, are you STILL ignoring me? It's bad enough that you stormed out of the restaurant before I could even call Chelsea to cancel!" Santana shouted after Quinn who was 10 steps ahead of her to the elevator in the lobby of their apartment building._

"_I TOLD you that I was NOT going to fight with you while you were driving! You are erratic enough on the road anyway, the last thing we needed was to go flying through a red light and getting ourselves killed! And I will gladly apologize to Chelsea for wasting her time, although we both know none of this was my fault!" Quinn returned with equal intensity before bolting through the opening elevator doors and again walking a good several paces ahead of Santana toward their place on the 32__nd__ floor. _

"_Oh, right, I forgot, you DIDN'T completely overreact as usual!" Santana slung back._

_The key only halfway in the door, Quinn couldn't move another muscle without turning to face her darker-skinned counterpart, the disbelief readable in her eyes like a large-print book. "Overreact? Overreacting would have been storming out when you merely knocked my hand out of yours upon seeing Jerry a few tables away, going out of your way to approach him before he could see us, and then BRILLIANTLY introducing me as your sister – I won't even BEGIN to touch why that lie was hilarious at best. But when he objectified me with his eyes for 10 minutes and then proceeded to GRAB YOUR ASS with ZERO objection from you, I didn't even come close to overreacting!"_

_Santana quickly turned the key the remainder of the way and pushed the door open, urging Quinn in a whisper "Jesus, keep your voice down!"_

"_Don't tell me what to do!" came the immediate reply as Quinn slammed her keys on the kitchen counter and proceeded to dry swallow two aspirin that she finally dug out of the bottom of her purse. "Now I see exactly why no one can know about me, or even any hypothetical love interest for you at work. The office boys might not feel quite as free to sexually harass you if they knew you didn't swing their way."_

_Like a five-knuckled hard blow to the stomach, Santana felt as if the wind was completely knocked out of her. "You… have got.. to be KIDDING me. I know that I am not perfect and I clearly keep fucking up over and over again when it comes to balancing you and this job and what have you, but I have NEVER cheated on you. Ever."_

"_Well, can you blame me for not knowing what to believe? Apart from the occasional ludicrous excuses and justifications, I don't even KNOW this other Santana that these people know. You're a different person, completely," Quinn retorted with the theory, unaware that she released the latch on the floodgates that were on the brink of unstoppably pouring out, like rapids raging back and forth in a war of the seas._

_Standing face-to-face in the living room, the battle began, pauses just short enough for breath, let alone any sort of thought._

"_God, I fucking hate it when you say that! Could you sound any more self-righteous?"_

"_ME? This has nothing to do with you in comparison to me, this is about who you, as a person, should WANT to be regardless of anyone else!"_

"_Well, guess what? I don't want to!"_

"_Yeah, big surprise there. Santana Lopez doesn't give a damn, alert the media."_

"_Oh, real nice, how about Quinn Fabray has a stick up her ass, alert the fucking media!"_

"_Listen to you! The ONLY thing you have against me is that I call you out and don't let you get away with whatever the hell you want!"_

_"And we're back to self-righteous again. If you think that's the ONLY thing I have against you, you are very wrong, sweetheart."_

_"Well, then enlighten me, will you please? Will you please tell me what I've done to make you so fucking mad?" The combination of tears welling up in Quinn's eyes and the use of an expletive from the normally straight-laced girl prompted a break in the rapid fire, Santana taking a few deep breaths, but not quite letting herself count to ten before launching back into it._

"_You've changed! When we were at McKinley, you said that you LIKED the fact that you got to see a side of me that no one else did, that it made you feel special!" the Latina attempted to justify._

"_We're not in high school anymore, Santana!" Quinn's voice was less angry and more wistful now. Disappointed. Sad. "And as much it was nice being the only one who got to see certain things, it didn't take away the hurt I'd feel when during the day I was practically invisible to you! When you were falsely accusing me of stealing your man and ratting you out and shoving me into lockers! When I lost my best friend over your bizarre obsession with your image! Falling from grace for me was mostly a curse, but it was also a blessing in the clarity I received in realizing that it really doesn't matter who thinks what of you, and even though you couldn't see it then, I told myself that once we got out of high school, things would be different. The problem is, they ARE different, and not in a good way. They're different in a way that's affecting me and us and you just refuse to take any ownership or responsibility! We were supposed to talk about starting a family tonight… making a baby. Right now I can't even trust you to commit to a dinner."_

_In an instant, what was once the proverbial blow to the stomach turned instead into the penetrating blade of a knife, driving its way through Santana's midsection and through her back, or so it felt. Part of her wished that Quinn was still yelling at her. That they were still screaming back and forth in a fruitless attempt to be heard. But this, this moment of what Quinn called honesty quickly turned into what Santana called bullshit – it had to be. There was no way she could actually have made Quinn feel those things and not be a complete monster. Santana knew she was a lot of things, but a monster was not one of them._

_Instead of attempting charm, or even an apology like she did normally, dark features only continued to darken, harden even. With a near-threatening step toward the blonde, she exhaled so deeply that Quinn could practically taste her hot breath. "No one's twisting your arm, Fabray. The door goes both ways."_

Quinn had obviously chosen the exit.

Right as the last drops were evaporating on Santana's tongue, her chest tightened at the familiar sound of key and lock joining and twisting in synchronicity as the only person who had a copy came through the door.

'_Quinn. And luggage. This is a start. This is good. Time to make it better.' _Santana thought.

Despite the slightly-rotating room, Santana all but leapt to her feet, taking two steps forward toward Quinn who was already 5 feet away from her in the living room.

She reached out both hands for Quinn to take, both affectionately and in hopes that she could steady her tipsy self at least in part. "Oh, baby, thank God. I'm so sorry, I –"

"Don't," Quinn warned, holding her hands away from the other girl and causing Santana to stumble backward into a sitting position on the couch. "I'm not here for good. Steve and Jess aren't back from their honeymoon until tomorrow, and even so I don't think they would appreciate me crashing their newly wedded bliss, and Hannah barely has extra space now that she got custody of her kids, so I don't really have anywhere else to go for the moment."

'_Yes, you do. You have your home, here, with me,' _Santana thought, but the best she could manage was, "Quinn –"

"I'll probably need a good 3 months to find a place of my own, and since the lease is your name, I'll take the couch, and until then I can continue to pay my share of the rent if that's okay," she interrupted emotionlessly, referring to the fact that she had always paid about $400 less in rent per Santana's insistence, since Quinn's job and hours were far less demanding and subsequently rewarding.

'_Come on, you fucker, step in, be the hero, do SOMETHING.' _"You don't have to pay anyth –"

"Yes, I do," Quinn cut in sternly. "This is not you doing me a personal favor, and we are not back together." She averted her eyes briefly from the Latina, who now looked so small and almost childlike. "Although I think for tonight I'll take the bed since you look so… settled there."

As Quinn left the living room, Santana understood the "two different people" theory. There was something about the hurt in Quinn's eyes that made her practically unrecognizable. The coldness in her girlfriend of 9 years' voice that was robbed of the sweetness she used to find there. She felt the pain of both confusion yet complete cognizance all at once that this feeling evoked, and she could only imagine how painful it had been for Quinn every time she had to navigate between her many different sides and only finding the good, loving side about a third of the time.

She finally came to this pivotal realization – about 60 minutes too late.

Maybe if she could just tell Quinn. Explain for the first time ever how she truly understood, and how she'd do things differently. That's all Quinn had ever wanted, right?

She laboriously lifted herself off the couch once more and made her staggering way across the apartment. When she finally steadied herself on the doorknob to the bedroom, the brass crackled sharply against her hand.

Locked.

For as long as they had been together, and as awful as some of their fights had been, Quinn had never once locked her out.

Dejectedly, Santana released the doorknob, cautiously lowered herself to the ground, and squinted as she slid across the carpet on her hands and knees until she found the metal apparatus she knew she'd be back for. Shortly after followed another resounding pop as the third cork of the night was once again cast to the floor.

She really fucked up this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I own zero rights to Glee.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you so much to everyone for being patient during this update, and even more so for leaving me such great, encouraging reviews! I honestly mean it when I say they mean the world to me, and on a technical level, they definitely keep me motivated to turn out updates as quickly as possible, so thank you, thank you, thank you again! **

It was only for a split second, but when she woke up, Santana at first thought the night before had been a horrid, yet incredibly vivid dream. In fact, she had always been more or less infamous for waking up from larger-than-life nightmares that seemed to have no basis in reality whatsoever. It reached a point in adolescence where her family was more likely to tease her about them than to be concerned, asking what flesh-eating monster had terrorized her this time, or what brand of public embarrassment she had faced in the dream world's version of McKinley High. She even learned to bring an arsenal of caffeine with her to the Cheerios team sleepovers - everything from No Doze to energy drinks to large coffees - to make it through the night without nodding off after a particularly scarring incident where she awoke screaming to the laughter of her peers. Only Quinn ever did her the courtesy of opening her arms and showering her with sweet kisses, and despite Santana's insistence that she was fine, would reassure her that the dream was over and everything was okay now.

This morning when Santana reached for her girlfriend, her hand instead brushed against the cold neck of the 4th and final wine bottle that stood up against the couch from the night before, her eyes jolting open when it fell on its side. No Quinn. No bed. It wasn't until the smell coffee invaded her nostrils, though that she really knew it wasn't a dream – making coffee was _her _"job" in the morning.

She quickly glanced at her phone for the time, and even though she knew she should be getting dressed, she wasn't even close to being ready to face the truth that she knew would become very real once she stood from the couch and came face-to-face with Quinn. She instead closed her eyes and allowed herself to be taken back to the memory of the day 3 years earlier that had just crossed her mind:

"_Mother FUCKER!" came the frustrated outcry from the kitchen, waking Santana and sending her to her feet. In her tired confusion and the still darkness of the early morning, she tripped over and sent flying a few of the moving boxes. It was the third day and first Monday morning in their new apartment, and they were only about halfway unpacked. _

_A few more boxes kicked aside in the living room and her eyes fell upon nothing short of a hot mess. The kitchen counters, floor – and Quinn – were covered in a mixture of what appeared to be coffee, grounds, water, and milk. _

_Santana stepped forward, and noticing the lack of amusement on Quinn's face, tried to hide her own and instead settled for a small, empathetic smile. "So… what happened, Babe?"_

_Quinn sighed, leaning up against the one clean spot on the counter and pushing the strands hanging down from her messy, slept-in ponytail out of her face. "I thought that since you're nervous about your first day that I would get up early and make you some breakfast and coffee and serve it to you in bed. So, I made the eggs and unpacked this… convoluted machine you bought," Quinn grumbled, motioning to the 2-in-1 coffee maker and espresso machine the Latina had purchased the night before, "thinking that it couldn't be that hard, right? And then it told me to add water, so I did. And it still kept blinking, 'Add water, add water'. So, I added as much water as the machine would take, mind you, the light is still blinking, and I decide to hit the 'Brew' button anyway, and the next thing I know, this thing starts SPEWING coffee! Literally, spewing hot coffee all over the counter and me, and so I move out of the way, and now it's leaking water AND coffee, and I have to dig to find the paper towels, and I'm trying to wipe up the counters, and then the floor, and then I reach up to get more paper towels and I knock over the milk! A whole half gallon, gone! And now the eggs are cold and I'm disgusting and I just made a huge mess out of everything!" _

_The combination of picturing everything Quinn had just detailed and seeing her look like a wet, coffee-soaked puppy, Santana couldn't help but release a loud, emphatic cackle, taking note of the hesitant smile that the blonde was desperately trying to suppress. _

_She reached out for Quinn, sopping with dairy and all, and pulled her close, "Baby, you are so fucking cute," Santana gushed, still laughing._

_Quinn raised an eyebrow and looked down at both the mess she made and the mess she was. "This is not cute!" she insisted, barely trying to fight her own smile anymore, "I really wanted to do something nice for you! I know I don't have my Master's yet, but I didn't think it was required to brew coffee!" _

_The shorter girl smiled reassuringly. "Well, I think it IS cute, and sweet that you got up so early to do something nice for me, especially since you start your job today, too!"_

"_Yeah, as a waitress," Quinn stressed, "This is a really big day for you. Everyone back home thought you were crazy to major in Marketing, and here you are with a serious corporate job 3 months after graduation! I'm really proud of you."_

_Santana, who was rarely emotional, felt her eyes mist over, so she kept the smile securely on her face and placed an appreciative kiss on her girlfriend's lips. "Thank you," she whispered, before leaning in for a longer kiss. "For what it's worth, the bit of breakfast that actually made it onto your mouth tastes delicious!"_

_They both laughed heartily as Quinn gave Santana a harmless shove. "From now on, YOU'RE making the coffee in the morning."_

"_That I can definitely do," Santana smiled before sighing, assessing the mess around her. "Okay, while I clean this up, you go get in the shower. Make it nice and hot, though, because I'm joining you when I'm done."_

_A look of unmistakable arousal and excitement graced the blonde's face. "Hmm…" she began seductively, "to think that in high school I never would have stood for you trying to give me orders. Now, I think I kind of like it."_

_Santana raised her eyebrows in return, "Oh yeah?" she asked with a smirk, "In that case, get your ass in the shower."_

"_Yes, ma'am," Quinn playfully saluted before strutting to the bathroom._

_For only a second, Santana glanced behind her at the mess in the kitchen before deciding it could wait and following her girlfriend to the shower._

She was startled out of the reverie of her daydream by the sound of ceramic breaking from the kitchen.

"Mother fucker," sounded the familiar expletive, albeit a little quieter this time.

Taking perhaps the deepest breath she ever had, Santana lifted herself from the couch, cautiously walking to the kitchen. She was immediately overcome with a strange feeling of being at home, yet somewhere completely foreign all at once. It was later than she realized since Quinn was already dressed for work, bent over to clean up the remnants of her mug. Santana paused to admire how beautiful the other girl looked in her business-casual skirt and blazer. She had not long ago hung up her waitressing apron for good, and with her Master's in Social Work, became a prime candidate for The Trevor Project's lifeline, a 24-hour hotline aimed mainly at LGBT youth who were dealing any number of crises. She still held the conviction herself that Quinn was perfect for this job, especially since she had endured her own share of the struggles as an adolescent herself. It wasn't long, however, before one of those pangs of realization hit her hard: Quinn was no longer hers to admire. That thought debilitated her.

As that bitter pill was settling in her stomach, Quinn looked up to see her peering down. Snapping out of it, Santana reached for the dustpan. "Need a hand?" she asked, bending down next to the blonde.

Barely looking up, Quinn simply took the dustpan from Santana's hands. "I've got it, thanks," she politely, but quickly declined.

Santana was left standing there awkwardly, discouraged, but not deterred. "At least you finally figured out how to use the coffee maker," she joked, hoping that Quinn would remember the reference.

She did, and smiled for what had to be a split second. Santana even swore that Quinn's eyes softened for a brief moment, recalling the memory to be as joyous as she did, but then she promptly continued moving about the kitchen, reaching for a travel mug as Santana likewise reached for a coffee mug of her own.

Santana pulled her hand back quickly as it occurred to her that now that they weren't together, Quinn may not have made any coffee with her in mind.

She awkwardly locked eyes with Quinn. "Can I – I mean, is there enough?"

Quinn nodded before looking away and stepping aside. "Of course. You bought it," she said pointedly.

"That's not what I meant, I just – I didn't know if you made enough for both of us," Santana fumbled, "You can of course help yourself to anything in the cabinets, you know that."

A heavy silence clouded the air as gazes bounced off one another and subsequently their surroundings before Quinn reached over to fill up her travel mug and squeeze by Santana. "I'm gonna be late," she stated flatly. "And so are you."

Before Quinn could make it all the way out the door, Santana stopped her in her tracks by speaking up. "Quinn, can we – can we just talk?"

With a deep sigh, the taller girl turned only half way around, "Santana," she said sternly, "I'm going to be late."

"Well, what about after work? Later on tonight?" the Latina attempted once more, desperately.

Another long breath left the blonde. "Maybe. Although honestly, I think we said everything we had to say last night."

And with that, she was gone, in an almost dreadful, painstaking slow motion.

From that point, Santana's day seemed to play out at the same unbearable speed. She continuously checked the time at work, appalled each time to discover that only 10, sometimes 20 minutes had passed since she last checked. While work was never something she thoroughly enjoyed, it had never before even come close to being so dreadful.

She used to tell herself that she liked the pace. That the sometimes harrowing schedule kept her on her toes, feeling alive, and a constant reminder of how hard to worked to get where she was. But as she sat there, literally watching the minutes tick slowly by, she came to another one of those impossible-to-swallow realizations:

None of it meant anything without Quinn.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I own nothing pertaining to Glee.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ****Thank you so much for all who are still reading for being patient through this last update. It's been a rough past week or so with some family and health issues, and while I was planning on making this chapter longer, I decided to cut it off as is and continue the next section in the next chapter. I'm incredibly grateful to all of you for reading and giving feedback and hope you continue to do so!**

For as long as she could remember, Santana always hated change.

Change is what took her big brother, and hero, away to college when she was 11 and never to visit again after a falling out with Mr. and Mrs. Lopez. For awhile, every time the phone would ring or an unexpected car would pull into the driveway, Santana would be on the balls of her feet, sprinting across the house only to be sorely disappointed. From that point on, any time the relationship between she and anyone in her life altered in the slightest, she panicked at the prospective changes to come.

These days it seemed like change was all she knew. It suffocated once-breathable air and lined her taste buds with bitterness. There was simply no escaping the crippling pain of broken routines and the staggering differences that instead took their place. Warm, inviting looks were exchanged for quick glances away, or even worse – an arched-eyebrow look from Quinn that silently asked, _"Why are you staring at me?"_ Brushes against each other in the rush of the morning that at one time would have turned into an embrace or a kiss instead turned into cold and awkward mishaps, followed up by a sullen, mumbled apology. A small cabinet off to the far left now housed Quinn's just-enough-to-get-by groceries, still in plastic bags, rather than the communal shelves constantly stocked with both of their favorites. The hardest difference to come to terms with, however, felt like falling face first from a cliff, the breath being ripped from her lungs and tied around her neck. Every time she arrived home from work, seeing Quinn on the couch with her knees drawn to her chest under the one throw blanket she personally owned, the distress and discomfort apparent in her features, hurt. Like absolute fucking hell.

But before she could delude herself into thinking things could not possibly get any worse, a glance at her cell phone for the first time all day illuminated a truth as much as it did the backlight: it was the day before Valentine's Day.

February 14th had always been perhaps the biggest event in Quinn and Santana's year as a couple, as it was Quinn's, and in time, Santana's favorite holiday. Ever since elementary school, she recalled the blonde going all out for the occasion with homemade cards and cupcakes for everyone in their class balanced on a petite, cheerful hip. Santana, however, always had a more cynical approach to the day, whether single or taken. She wasn't a fan of expressing herself on any given day, so this candy-coated, pink-hued day seemed way over the top. Not to mention that for years, she never quite got to spend it with who she wanted.

_Freshman year at McKinley had Quinn and Santana walking extra tall, hips swaying to the same rhythm of bouncing ponytails. They may have made the cut for Cheerios for the 2nd semester in a row, but that didn't mean they could just slack off, especially since they were striving for the top._

_Because of this, and other pressures to move up the social ladder, Valentine's Day became less of a celebration for Quinn. Gone were the baked goods for all, the pink ensemble, and the overt enthusiasm, but even so, she did come prepared with a small shoulder bag, just big enough to fit the construction paper valentines and conversation hearts reserved for those she deemed close friends._

_As Santana methodically spun her locker combination into the dial, out of the corner of her eye she spooted Quinn digging through the mystery bag she had yet to open._

_"Before I forget..." she began before handing over the correct card and candy, "Happy Valentine's Day!" _

_In contrast to Quinn's smile, Santana emitted her signature eye roll and groan. "Ugh, you and this holiday!"_

_"Ugh, you and this attitude!" Quinn mocked with a laugh. "What could you possibly have against 'this holiday'?"_

_"Apart from the fact that it's totally gay?" Santana paused, not missing the unimpressed raised eyebrow from her taller counterpart. "I just don't see the point. I mean, shouldn't you just tell the people you love that you love them every day instead of being expected to go to all these cliche lengths to show them?" _

_"Well, yeah, but you could say that for just about any holiday. What about Thanksgiving? Shouldn't we be thankful for who and what we have every day? Yes, but it's nice to have a day to focus on just that. Same thing with Veteran's Day, Labor Day, even birthdays. It's not an excuse to __not__ care and love and be grateful every other day, but it__'__s a day to especially focus on the love in your life." Upon Santana's silence, Quinn continued. "And you personally don't have to go all out if you don't want to, but you are someone in my life who I love, so like it or not, you're getting a valentine!"_

_Even though Quinn was being a little more goofy than sentimental, the word "love" washed over the Latina's entire body, commanding a smile onto her lips as she locked eyes with Quinn. _

_Before either of them could speak another word, Quinn's senior puck-head boyfriend Garth came barreling down the hallway in his true ape-like fashion, knocking into Quinn by throwing an overbearing arm._

_"Hey, sexy valentine," he leered as usual, all but pinning the blonde against the locker next to Santana's. Before she knew it, the tan-skinned girl found herself taking slow, deep breaths, more than ever suppressing the urge to knock Garth's teeth out. She didn't know what her best friend could possibly see in him. Sure, she knew how important it was to cultivate popularity, but this arrogant-for-no-reason loser wasn't even remotely worth it, especially since Quinn could rightfully have anyone._

_"Hey!" Quinn beamed at her boyfriend, twisting Santana's stomach into knots, "Happy Valentine's Day! These are for you," she said modestly, handing the ogre a card, candy, and a thin velvet case that Santana knew to house a silver chain that the blonde had spent a good amount of money and thought on._

_Without examining any of the gifts up close, he stuffed them in his backpack and pulled out an unwrapped, tag-still-on, matted from his bag stuffed monkey with a heart across its chest that read 'I'm Bananas 4 U'. Santana didn't even try to disguise her amusement, which earned her a scowl from the meat head before he turned his attention back to Quinn, "And this is for you."_

_Santana swore she saw a fleeting look of disappointment behind Quinn's olive-colored eyes, but her face quickly broke into a smile as she looked back up at Garth. "Aww, I love it! Thank you!" _

_Garth smiled proudly, clearly internally congratulating himself for his dopey gift. "So, are we still on for tonight?"_

_"Of course," the blonde grinned, leaning up into the sloppy kiss that Garth pressed against her mouth before he retreated down the hallway with his buddies._

_Santana slammed her locker door shut. She was back to hating this stupid holiday once again._

Of course, even though her 15 year old mind couldn't comprehend it at the time, things did improve over the years, including later that very day when Quinn and Garth broke up after he kept insisting that his real gift to Quinn should be the "pleasure" of sleeping with him. Lucky for Santana, Quinn and Finn broke up before turning her and everyone else's stomach the following Valentine's Day (and she took it upon herself to distract Puck from making an equally lame gesture as Garth had the year before). The year after that, it was finally their turn, and while Santana was still working her way up to being comfortable with even private displays of her affection, Quinn quickly turned her into a believer when she chose that day to tell her she loved her - and made love to her - for the first time. Ever since, Santana's views changed from cynical and indifferent to, shockingly, excited and optimistic.

Although this year, she feared things might be painfully coming full circle.

As she continued to drive by billboards, electric marquees, and street vendors that all reinforced the upcoming holiday, it occurred to Santana that instead of letting Valentine's Day defeat her, it might be an opportunity to do some good and maybe turn things around. She knew more than anyone what the occasion, and specifically the sentiment behind it, meant to Quinn, and that as hardened as her heart might have been lately, she couldn't resist some genuine romance on her favorite day of the year. Her recent and still-in-tact Christmas bonus made the practically endless possibilities even more endless as she pondered several ways to converge all of her former girlfriend's favorites, and weaknesses, as quickly as possible by the next evening.

While the elevator was slowly climbing floors, she rehearsed casual ways to find out what Quinn's work schedule was like the next day, without giving away any of her potential plans. If she was lucky, Quinn would be working one of her usual early shifts and be done by 5 or 6 PM, in which case Santana would pull every string possible to be leaving work by 7:00 herself.

Santana loudly bustled through the front door, hoping to catch Quinn's attention, but as soon as she stepped through the door, she heard an unfamiliar female voice talking over mid-volume music. As the door shut behind her, two pairs of eyes fell on her from the living room couch - Quinn's and another woman, one whom she had seen before. Two nearly-empty wine glasses sat on the coffee table in front of them, along with the bottle itself, and their arms-length distance away from each other was still far too close as far as Santana, whose skin suddenly felt hot to the touch, was concerned.

To break the brief awkward silence, Quinn politely acknowledged Santana as she hung up her blazer and walked tentatively into the room. "Hey," she said with a soft smile, "Santana, you remember my co-worker, Becca?"

Santana did remember Becca, who she had met upon her first (and only) visit to Quinn's workplace about a month after she began working there. The blonde had fallen under the weather, but was reluctant to take a sick day so close to being hired, so Santana surprised her on her lunch break with soup and tea from Quinn's favorite cafe. Immediately, she honed in on the woman sitting with her girlfriend, and she certainly didn't miss how her piercing blue eyes that were so obviously enamored with Quinn, and the lovestruck smile that fell from her face when she herself was introduced. When Quinn left to use the bathroom, Becca confirmed her interest in her co-worker by asking how long she and Santana had been together, if they lived together, and stating the obvious by telling Santana she was "very lucky." Annoyed, but not wanting to cause problems for her girlfriend at work, Santana nodded and dryly informed Becca that she in fact knew how lucky she was. When Quinn's break was nearing an end, Santana ignored the warnings about not wanting to get her sick and deeply kissed the blonde with a smile before showing herself out.

Snapping back to reality, Santana tried to muster up a shred of composure once more. "I do," she answered shortly. "Hello."

"Hi, there," Becca replied with a grin.

While she wasn't a drop-dead stunner, Santana struggled to convince herself that Quinn could never be attracted to Becca. With shoulder-length black hair contrasting pale skin, she was clearly dressed to impress in an unbuttoned dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, a sweater vest, and a loose necktie. However, it was the subtly smug expression she wore that thrust Santana dangerously close to the edge of losing her cool, and this time she couldn't console herself with the comfort of Quinn being HER girl.

She stood there silently for a moment, contemplating asking a series of questions and in-turn feigning complete bullshit interest that she convinced herself would only make things worse. Clearing her throat, she excused herself. "I'm gonna go to bed. Good night." She considered telling Becca that it was nice to see her again, but she knew that she couldn't stop the sarcasm from dripping off her words.

With a slam of the bedroom door, Santana launched at the bed, wearing her fist relentlessly into one of her pillows and then screaming into it. Not only was Quinn moving on within weeks of their break up to some awkward crunchy, she was purposely trying to rub it in Santana's face - the day before Valentine's Day, no less. They could have gotten together anywhere at any time, and of all the possibilities, Quinn brings her to their apartment, (to HER apartment, really), at night, for drinks.

It was always a running joke of sorts while they were together that for the most part, Quinn found Santana's protectiveness sexy, at times even provoking her so that she would react out of jealousy. Santana may have let that slide when they were a couple, but it wasn't cute or funny anymore. Quinn wanted to make her jealous? Two could play that game.

She reached for her phone, scrolling through her Contacts until her thumb passed over a cell number. After going straight to voicemail, she tried a second number until someone answered.

Santana cleared her throat. "Hi, Mrs. Pierce. I know it's a little late, but is Brittany home by any chance?"


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Glee, unfortunately...**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: To those who are still reading, I thank you so much for your bearing with me, your continuance to read, and I was especially touched that so many of you wished me well in my family and health issues. You guys are amazing! This chapter is pretty lengthy, so I'm hoping the update was worth the wait! About 75% of the next chapter is complete, so I'm hoping the wait will be far shorter next time! Please let me know your thoughts!**

Brittany Pierce never made it out of Lima. The saddest part was, denseness aside, her talent alone really could have taken her places: New York, LA, or virtually anywhere that called for a professional dancer. But her gullibility, lack of street (or book) smarts, and youthful need to be taken care of kept her firmly planted where she was.

That's the part that had Santana feeling slightly guilty about using Brittany as a pawn in this quintessential Lopez versus Fabray battle for dominance, but on the other hand, despite being stuck in a two-stoplight town, the brightly blue-eyed girl was doing pretty well for herself. She was a full-time gymnastics and aerobics instructor at the only youth sports club within a 50-mile radius, and the over-zealous stage parents who were determined to ride on their children's coat tails out of Ohio were always thrilled with her work. So, while it may not have been the life that many agreed she could have, it was always in true Brittany fashion to find happiness in things others didn't understand.

In fact, one of those things was her interesting-at-best friendship with Santana in high school. To onlookers it was bizarre, controversial, even scandalous. To Brittany and Santana, it was simply convenient. Santana loved sex, Brittany loved sex. Santana preferred girls, Brittany went either way. Santana liked to lead, Brittany liked to follow. And neither of them found anyone special enough to commit to long-term and thwart their occasional hook-ups - no one who reciprocated, anyway. That was of course until a moment of long-hushed honesty brought Quinn and Santana together after a lifetime of friendship, ironically prompted by the former queen bee's discovery of Brittany and Santana's friendship with benefits:

_"WHAT the fuck is your problem?" demanded a fiery, teenage Santana on the Fabrays' front doorstep on the first day of summer, the year the Glee club came in 3rd at Regionals. "I come here trying to be nice -"_

_"And I said thank you," Quinn replied quietly, "now can you please go before you wake my mom? She's napping -"_

_"You mean she's passed out, drunk, as usual!" the Latina shouted, continuing on despite the hurt look etched on the blonde's face. "Oh, come on, you know it's true and I know it's true, I just thought I'd offer you an alternative to boozy the clown's not-so-fun-house since you refused to stay at Weezy's place." _

_"Okay, I already feel bad enough for turning down Mercedes' offer, but I just wasn't comfortable. I only met Mr. and Mrs. Jones once and I kind of got the sense that they had already made a lot of judgments about me. It just wouldn't feel like home," Quinn countered, her eyes roaming the same downward trail that the volume of her voice did._

_"Which, again, is why I made my offer," Santana retorted haughtily. "Your ass practically has its own groove marks in all of our furniture, and my parents call you 'honey', which they don't even call me. They would obviously make you feel at home."_

_Quinn took a deep breath, something obviously weighing on her mind. "I'm sure they would..."_

_"Then WHAT is your problem?" Santana interrogated._

_"It's not them I'd feel uncomfortable around.." Quinn's voice trailed off, her failure to finish the sentence still speaking volumes of its own._

_While the blonde's telltale unimpressed face involved the singular raised eyebrow, Santana, too, had a look all her own that made her dissatisfaction crystal clear. "ME? You're not comfortable around ME? Are you that fucking weak that you have to run home to Mommy whenever somebody hurts your feelings?"_

_A sarcastic laugh rumbled low through Quinn. "Yeah, like I really wanna live with this."_

_"Well, what do you want me to say? I'm sorry for being the same old bitch I've always been? I'm sorry for sexting with your baby daddy, who you stole from me?"_

_Before Santana could say any more, Quinn cut in. "I'm surprised you're so worked up about Puck, since you're with Brittany and all."_

_For the first time the whole conversation, the two girls' eyes deadlocked._

_"Yeah," the blonde continued, "Mercedes told me."_

_This time, Santana released her own brand of unamused laughter. "Okay, first of all, I'm not 'with' Brittany. We have sex sometimes, that's it. And second of all, I knew you were prudish and uptight, but I had no idea you were completely brainwashed by that Catholic bullshit."_

_"You're wrong," Quinn all-but-whispered._

_"So, you think that The Riz is all fine and good with teenage pregnancy, but not down with a little rainbow love? God, you're twisted."_

_"You're WRONG, Santana!" she insisted once more._

_"Then fucking enlighten me!" the shorter girl shouted, at her wits end. When she received no reply from the other girl, her fire only became increasingly wilder, as she took 3 steps forward until she was practically nose-to-nose with the blonde. "Seriously, grow a pair and explain yourself, because I may be a bitch, but I don't back down like one! You have a problem, you tell it to my face!" _

_Quinn's body visibly shook and her normally bright eyes became dark. "Fine! You want the big, ugly secret? The truth? I wasn't disgusted that you and Brittany were involved." A long hush overtook the air, and this time Santana kept quiet. "I was jealous. Of her. Satisfied?"_

_For at least 5 seconds, Santana was almost certain her heart had stopped._

_Suddenly, Mrs. Fabray appeared in the doorway, the shouting likely having woke her. "Quinn. Inside. Now."_

_Whatever was about to happen behind closed doors, Santana knew it wasn't going to be good, and it was going to be big. She very well knew how to read behind the eyes of the Fabrays by now._

Although things certainly got worse before they got better, the outing of Quinn's feelings for Santana brought Quinn from her mother's home to the Lopez' instead, and subsequently gave Santana the courage to disclose her mutual feelings for Quinn. So, in a weird, indirect way, Brittany played a role in actually bringing the two together.

It didn't stop Quinn from getting jealous of the way Brittany always found a way to touch Santana at school, or the drunken come-ons, both in person and via text. Santana always assured Quinn that it was harmless flirting, and she was mostly right. The only real trouble being that for Brittany, the lines of relationships (or friendships, or hookups) were often blurred, and so boundaries were never crystal clear for the slow-on-the-uptake dancer. Even the last time they saw Brittany, almost 3 years ago when they returned to Lima for Mr. Schuester's wedding, the green-eyed girl had to practically be talked down from a ledge after the other blonde pulled Santana onto the dance floor and all but put on a show for everyone by effortlessly, yet salaciously, grinding against her. Santana always consoled Quinn with rare, yet true, sincerity: that she would never cheat on her. Unlike various other hearts that she fumbled, dropped, and broke, she simply loved Quinn too much to ever hurt her like that.

But now, post-break up and post-Becca, all bets were off.

**********************************************************************  
Even the deep-reaching yawn that temporarily paralyzed her lethargic form couldn't stop Santana from smiling proudly as she left the office at a record-setting 3 PM. It had been quite some time, likely as far back as before she and Quinn had started dating, since she had manipulated, pulled strings, and meddled. For picking up where she left off after so many passing years, she simply had to congratulate herself.

Her victory was especially sweet considering that her plan was almost thwarted altogether when Brittany insisted she had to be back to Ohio for her 4 PM shift the day after Valentine's Day. When Santana asked why, Brittany replied: 

_"Well, my boss is kind of mad at me, 'cause 2 weeks ago when we went to competition, I kind of lost a few of the kids, but only for a little while. I don't know why she's so mad, the kids were totally fine, but still, I have to be really good or I'll get fired."_

Santana sighed. _Oh, Brittany. Some things never change._

But no, she wasn't going to relent that easily. Every time she closed her eyes, images of either Becca or Quinn or the wine or her first visit to their work flickered through her senses like a candle that refused to be snuffed, and it made her want to shout and cry all at once. If there was one thing she thought she had made perfectly clear in her young life, it's that no one messes with the queen bee. And despite what anyone else had to say about it, Santana was about to prove once and for all that SHE was the one who owned the throne.

At 6:00 sharp that morning, Santana sauntered confidently and far earlier than usual into Jerry's office and smiled. With an extra few bats of her temptingly long lashes, she convinced him that she was "oh-so-close" to signing a business contract with a client she insisted was a notorious hold-out: a "big time" sports club in the Midwest, and that a business dinner, courtesy of the company jet and town car, would lock things down "for sure."

For someone as sickeningly rich and indubitably respected throughout the Northeast as Jerry was, he was notoriously for being both cheap and bitter. Santana privately conjectured that his anger revolved around even his millions being unable buy away his impotence, heaviness, or the fact that he never married, and her faint flirting was a subtle, yet hopefully final touch. After moments of grumbling about short notice and budget questions, Jerry begrudgingly agreed, warning Santana that if she failed to close the deal, she would be taking his business trip to Arizona at the beginning of March so that he could attend a golf tournament. While Jerry made the arrangements for that evening, Santana silently blocked off her calendar from March 1st through the 7th, citing "AZ trip" as the reason for her unavailability.

She glanced at her watch as the elevator doors opened, reaching her floor exactly at 3:36 PM. The Manhattan streets were especially buzzing that afternoon as she had watched, more wistfully than she would admit, couples of all ages and kinds stroll the city sidewalks as she was in stand-still traffic. Now she had to make up for lost time and find something smokin' to wear before both Brittany, in the company town car, and Quinn arrived at the apartment a little after 4. She did bait Brittany with the promise of lots of sex, after all, so she had to look the part.

She tossed her keys and purse by the door and alternated between the bedroom and the bathroom, contemplating whether or not she would have time to shower. Deciding against it, she instead plugged her straightener into the bathroom vanity and began applying make-up as she waited for it to heat. She considered eyeshadow colors for a moment before realizing she would need to decide on an outfit first in order to coordinate.

Once in the living room, Santana found it odd that the bedroom door was shut, and upon moving closer, heard a familiar love song playing, and not the usual depressing shit that both she and Quinn had admittedly been playing a lot of since their split. Without warning, Santana's breath hitched tightly in her throat: it was one of the songs Quinn sometimes played when they were intimate.

_She was in there, fucking that bitch!_

Before Santana knew it, her fist was against the door, pounding to the point of redness against her dark knuckles. "Quinn!" she shouted, the name burning in her mouth like spice.

In a matter of seconds, a slightly startled, but calm Quinn opened the door, hair framing her face and a soft smile pushing against her lips. "Hey, I wasn't expecting you," she said, causing Santana to fight the urge to remark sarcastically. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Wow. Quinn really thought she could play cute and innocent and get away with this. She'd see. There was no way Becca could escape without getting through Santana, and she wanted to make sure to save the bulk of her rage for that whore, just in case her fist were to act on its own in search for a face. She had hit Quinn before in high school, and her promise to never hit her again was one she didn't want to break, even in her near-blinding rage. "I need to get in there."

Eyebrows furrowed, Quinn took a discouraged step back. "Okay, just give me a second to get decent."

Santana was certain this was a dream. There's no way this was really happening, that after all this time of seeing what she thought was the truth, Quinn really was the ultimate, unfeeling, beyond evil queen bee that everyone in days of old used to fear. Feeling numb, she kicked over the large pewter coffee table in one fell swoop, registering the pain in her toes and reinforcing that this was in fact real life.

From behind her, the bedroom door opened, and she whirled around to see Quinn emerging from the darkness in a maroon, crushed velvet dress with an empire waist and a skirt that fell just below the knee. She went from being the ugliest person Santana had ever seen to the most stunning in a matter of seconds, but she quickly blinked and folded her arms, determined to not let it distract her.

Putting in a gold earring as she walked, Quinn cleared a path to the bedroom, "Sorry about that, I thought you'd still be at work."

Santana made a bee-line through the door to her room, flicking the lights on and tossing through, over, and aside every plausible place that a person could hide. "I could say the same for you."

Having moved into the bathroom to examine her hair, Quinn raised her voice so that Santana could still hear. "Work a full day on Valentine's Day? You know that's against the law for me," she replied warmly, a trace of the girl she once knew finally returning to her voice.

After trashing the entire room, Santana had enough. She quickly threw on one of her most revealing cocktail dresses, one she had previously reserved only for Quinn, and stormed back into the living room, standing in the blonde's eyesight from the open bathroom door. "Where's Becca?"

Quinn turned her head to make eye contact, her expression confused. "Uhh... I don't know? Probably still at work, I'd imagine."

Not buying on it, Santana pressed on. "Is that who you're all dressed up for?"

Walking out of the bathroom and back into the living room, Quinn looked more perplexed by the second. "Santana," she began, "what is it that you're trying to imply?" In that moment, she glanced sideways at the open bedroom door to see the wreckage the other girl had just created. The moment of realization visibly registered on her face. "Oh my God, did you think - we were involved?"

Santana started to feel flushed, uncertain as to whether it was true disbelief or simply denial in Quinn's voice. "Come on, the wine, the couch, the music, the night time..."

Quinn put her hands over her face. "Oh, God, oh God, oh God," she repeated regretfully, "I swear, it didn't even occur to me how that must have looked! If you hadn't taken off so fast, I would have told you what was really going on." She paused to pick up a packet of papers off the floor that had been on the coffee table moments before and held it up for Santana to see. It was a contract. "Becca wanted to meet with me about taking over her old shift leader position. It's one set schedule, salary pay... she just got promoted and they want someone internal to take over, but since I've been there the least amount of time, her boss suggested we meet privately to make sure I'm right for it before making the announcement."

What could be described only as a sharp, prodding ache in Santana's stomach started to swell deep within her. This was all starting to make sense. Believable, logical sense.

The first thought in Santana's mind escaped her mouth. "Wow," she cleared her throat. "So... you're not... going out with her tonight?"

Quinn emitted a quiet laugh and for the first time in a long time, Santana saw a beautifully genuine smile remain on fair-skinned lips for more than just a fleeting moment. "Well, while I'm officially a little offended that you would even think so, no, I'm definitely not going out with her tonight, or at all. I kind of had a feeling she wanted to ask me last night, but I feigned tiredness and rushed her out before she could ask to not make it awkward."

The ache in Santana's stomach turned into a pulsating throb. She was wrong. She was so fucking wrong. A subconscious part of her knew that she should tell Quinn what she had done right then, but the other part of her was enjoying this long-lost degree of closeness way too much to even sacrifice a second of it.

The unfamiliar tug of a smile broadened Santana's mouth. "Oh," she laughed sheepishly, "well, you look so amazing, I figured you had someone to impress."

With a step forward, Quinn tossed the contract on the couch, fiddled with the cross around her neck like she always did when she was nervous, and locked her army green eyes with Santana's tawny brown. "Well, actually, I was hoping maybe we could get some dinner together, and catch up? We haven't really talked since, you know... and I think we've been through too much together to have to spend this day alone."

All of the weighted pain that beat at the bottom of Santana's stomach suddenly shot up, straight to her heart like a hollow-point bullet when there was a knock at their front door.

The blonde regarded the door quizzically, since as an alternative to "buzzing someone in," their apartment had the option of a pass code in the lobby. "I didn't give out our code to anybody, did you?" she asked, walking toward the front door.

"No, wait -" Santana heard herself practically whisper, cut off by -

" -Who is it?"

"It's Brittany," the voice stated officially, almost robotically, "Brittany S. Pierce."

She thought she'd be used to it by now, but the microsecond it took for the happiness in Quinn's eyes to turn to betrayal never failed to floor Santana.

"Brittany?" she asked Santana, her voice quiet and gritty, "What is Brittany doing here?"

Frantic desperation consuming her body, Santana moved toward the door but kept her eyes fixated on Quinn, "Okay, look, please don't go anywhere, just let me get the door and give me a chance to explain, okay? She's just here for the night, as a friend, nothing more."

As soon as Santana's hand turned the doorknob, any lasting thread she had to hold on to rapidly began unraveling when Brittany, dressed in what could only be described as black lingerie under an overcoat that left practically nothing to the imagination, flung herself into Santana's arms, hands gripping the Latina's ass tightly. Santana did her best to shake away from the tall, muscular girl's tight grasp, not even daring to cast a look at Quinn, who was likely obliterating them both with an icy stare. She finally freed herself and quickly used Brittany's coat and suitcase as a physical barrier between them. "Uh, hi, Brit, Happy Valentine's Day," she managed with faux cheer and nonchalance.

Bright blue eyes widened as she smiled. "Oh my gosh, do you know what this reminds me of? When we were in the tenth grade and you had to explain to me over and over again that Valentimes day isn't just about telling the time over and over again all day like I used to think, and then instead we saw how many times we could have sex in one day! Do you remember that?"

Quinn's laugh cynically sounded from the living room as she bent down to pick up her contract and headed for the bedroom. Santana cursed internally; It was time for her to step it up if she ever wanted to make this right.

"Quinn, wait, please..." Santana begged as she ran across the living room and placed a hand on her shoulder from behind.

"No, I'm really more than done with this, Santana, okay? Please," she replied, not even able to bring herself to turn around.

Unsurprisingly oblivious to the tension, Brittany shouted from the kitchen, "Hi, Quinn! It's me, Brittany, from high school!"

As she turned around, Quinn's teeth were so firmly gritted together that Santana could practically feel it in her own. Her breathing and words were choppy as she feigned what could barely be called a smile. "Yes," she exhaled, "I know."

Since her life already had a knack for horribly ironic timing that could rival that of a fucking TV drama, Santana plead to whatever higher power would listen that she could somehow will what was happening to a halt when she saw Brittany reach into her bag and walk toward Quinn with a card.

"So, I'll be honest with you, I'm pretty mad at you for deciding to become a nun and breaking Santana's heart, especially since she's so hot, but on the other hand, I wouldn't have my license if you didn't stick up for me in driver's ed that time I crashed the instructor's car, so, I brought you a Valentime anyway," she said, hopelessly earnest, and unknowingly sealing Santana's fate by revealing exactly what her motives were for the evening, and how she had lied to set them in place. Santana couldn't bear another syllable.

"Brittany! Can you, um, wait out in the hallway for a few? Quinn and I need a minute," she cut in, sweat beads forming miniature pools on her face and neck.

"Oh, okay, but don't be long, 'cuz it's gonna take us forever to fly to New Jersey," Brittany urged as she walked back toward the kitchen.

Thinking she should probably leave it alone, Santana couldn't help but correct her, for Quinn's sake, too. If she found out that Santana had used the company plane to fly Brittany out, she wouldn't stand a chance. "Um, no, Brit, we're not flying to New Jersey, we're driving."

"But I thought New Jersey was in India, won't that take us like 100 hours to drive to?" she inquired with concern.

"Jersey..." Quinn interjected spitefully, "Really, Santana?"

Santana's resolve was weakening as she exhaled deeply. New Jersey had always been the chosen destination for the nights Quinn and Santana wanted to go out dancing, since the work Santana was too paranoid to go anywhere within the city in fear of someone seeing her at a gay bar. "Brittany, hallway. Now."

"No, Brittany's right," Quinn insisted firmly, "you guys really should get going." Her iced-over eyes bore into Santana's. "We have nothing to talk about anymore."

The bedroom door slam jolted Santana's shoulders before clawing her fingers up her forehead and through her hair, head still spinning from the tempest of destruction that only further broke what she was convinced couldn't possibly get any worse.

From behind her, she heard Brittany clear her throat, and she turned to see her wearing the same empty expression she was famous for in high school. "Wait, I thought if Quinn was a nun, she was supposed to wear that black hood thing..." she whispered, as if it were an inappropriate question.

Without responding, Santana gripped Brittany's wrist and pulled her toward the front door. When a moment ago, words were the only thing she wished for to try and explain this all away to Quinn, now she couldn't seem to find them, as she was burdened with the weight of Valentine's Day, and the 3 people she just ruined it for.

*****************************************************************  
By the time they returned to the apartment at 2:45 in the morning, Santana had counted 64 instances of Brittany asking, "Are you mad at me?" As much as nothing irritated her more than the repetition of the same question or statement, Santana couldn't help but pity the girl she once called her best friend. After all, Brittany was promised a much different evening than the one that occurred, which consisted of Santana lost in tormented thought, contributing few words to conversation, and barely able to uphold her own body on the dance floor. Even so, she knew it was better to just reaffirm Brittany's question with her own repeated "Of course not" rather than go into how everything actually ended up unfolding. She already ruined her night, there was no point in telling her she had used her, too.

Tiptoeing inside, when Quinn was nowhere to be found in the living room despite the blanket on the couch, Santana assumed she had (rightfully) taken the bedroom for the evening. It wasn't until Brittany came dashing from the bathroom in the same split second that she had entered, practically ashen.

"Quinn's puking her guts out," she shouted across the living room tactlessly, "Is she throwing up a demon or something?"

Santana ran over, gently pushing Brittany to the side to tend to Quinn, who was in fact sprawled out on her knees on the cold linoleum, her hair framing her face in various sticky clumps from her messy ponytail, sorely streaked cheeks, and her pale, limp form shaking drastically with each awful retch. The pungent smell of vodka filled the room, and suddenly, Santana's heart began to race. Quinn had never drank to this extreme, and it wasn't looking good.

She likewise knelt to the floor, gathering dirty blonde hair away from the other girl's damp face with one hand and rubbing her back with the other. "Hey, hey, I'm here," she began, knowing how Quinn hated vomiting more than just about anything else, "how much did you have to drink?" No response, just more horrible sounds. "Quinn? Talk to me so I can help you, sweetie..."

After another few moments of silence, her words finally came, teary, slurred, and loud. "You can't help me, this is your fault! This whole.. all this feelings and crying and I thought the drink and then it would make me forget and then now there was just crying some more and puking and I just I wanna die!"

"Shh, you know that's not true, come on, take deep breaths," Santana attempted at comfort, hoping to God that Quinn's statement was only that of a belligerent drunk and nothing substantial.

With a few final spits and deep breaths, it appeared Quinn's bout of sickness was finally over. She emitted what could only be described as an upset growl and changed her mind. "No, I wanna kill HER, she came.. and she took," she finished, clearly referring to Brittany despite the incoherence.

Santana helped Quinn into an upright position and cleared away the moisture from under her eyes before looking deeply into them. "Hey, hey, none of that's true, either. Brittany is your friend, and she didn't take anyone or anything, okay? I promise. And I'm so sorry. For all of this."

Brittany poked her head back in the bathroom door cautiously, and when she saw that Quinn was no longer sick, spoke up. "Santana, is it bedtime yet? I'm seeing those tired color spots whenever I blink."

The Latina took a deep breath before remembering that she was the one who created this mess, as fucking usual. "Okay, Brit, why don't you go lay down on the couch and I'll be there in a minute to tuck you in? I'm gonna get Quinn settled in the bedroom."

"We can still cuddle, right?" Brittany asked innocently.

Santana swallowed hard. "We'll see."

Lifting Quinn onto her feet and then carefully into a threshold position in her arms, her own heartbeat pounded sharply in her ears with each step, trying to suppress Quinn's intoxicated sobs. The two parts of her own brain that always seemed to contradict were, as always, at odds, as one side thought things could not possibly get any worse, the other side found just enough of a shred of hope.

As much as she hated to see Quinn cry, again, on her account, it spoke a truth that could not be denied: Quinn still cared about her.


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: I still own zero rights to Glee.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I promised a faster update ^_^ Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated!**

**WARNING: This chapter contains explicit content. If that does not sound like your cup of tea, please do not proceed.  
**

_"We're waiting, Santana!" Mrs. Lopez shouted at her daughter, who had just celebrated her 18th birthday a few days earlier._

_Seated on a kitchen stool that felt barely an inch off the ground, Santana looked up at her parents, who were standing over her, with folded arms. "I told you," she mumbled, "it just seemed like a good idea at the time."_

_For the first time since the lecture began, Mr. Lopez cut in, his voice loud and thunderous as it tended to be when he wasn't in the mood for Santana's crap. "If you could have ever thought that sounded like a good idea, there must be something horribly wrong with your brain," he said, his features stony and serious. "Really. After everything your mother and I have given you, all our sacrifices and hard work to set a good example for you, even though we showed you so much leniency, and in return, you give us disrespect!"_

_"I didn't mean to -"_

_"Save it!" her father's voice boomed once more. "I will not accept such blatant lies! You cashed in every single savings bond that your family set aside for your education and spent it on foolishness, and then you try to tell us that you didn't think it would end poorly. Have none of our lessons gotten through to you over the years? Not a one?"_

_The word "foolishness" instantly made Santana's skin itch. She felt her eyes threaten to well up, and before they could, she stood from the chair and to closer eye level to her parents. They were wrong about her, and she had to try to make them see that. "I thought you guys taught me to be an individual who works hard to get what she wants! Sure, art might not be a path that you agree with or support, but I've worked HARD to get as good as I am, and I had to try and get my work seen! Don't I get any credit for taking that initiative?"_

_"And did your initiative that cost you thousands of dollars end up furthering your art fantasy?" Mrs. Lopez challenged._

_Santana remained silent, as both Mr. and Mrs. Lopez already knew that the answer was no. She didn't dare tell them the part about finding out after the fact that it was actually no more than one of those online-based scams that requires an entrance fee to have your work "enhanced" and "anthologized" in a catalog, only to never follow through on the deal. Only Quinn knew that part of the story._

_"Exactly," Mr. Lopez replied to Santana's silence. "So, you were arrogant, you were foolish, you were wasteful, and now you have nothing to show for it. Not to mention that valuable funding that could have gone toward your tuition is now gone."_

_Taking her seat once more, Santana sighed dejectedly. "I'm sorry."_

_"We're sorry, too," Mrs. Lopez stated flatly. "Your father and I haven't made a decision yet, but we are not going to pay back that money that you wasted away, so, either you take out loans or you get a job or you try for a scholarship, but you got into this situation, and you need to fix it somehow."_

_Without needing to be said, the conversation was over, and Santana stood in silence and walked upstairs to her room. It was one of the many times she learned that expectations of perfection mixed with a rebellious nature rarely ended well._

_Standing directly inside the door to the bedroom they shared, Quinn pulled Santana into a hug, which she only half-reciprocated, body stiffening up in an attempt to once more suppress any threats of tears._

_"I heard everything," Quinn spoke softly, "and for what it's worth, I think they were being too hard on you."_

_Walking over to the closet, Santana began mindlessly leafing through her clothes. "It's whatever," she said with a shrug._

_Quinn crept behind Santana and wrapped her arms around her waist. "I know it's bothering you, even if you say it isn't," she gently prodded._

_Instead of gratefulness, pride swelled within Santana as she shrugged off Quinn's embrace. "Quinn, it's not, like a big deal or anything. I'm just sick of being a fuck-up that's all."_

_Taking a step back, Quinn continued to attempt reason on her girlfriend. "Babe, you are not a fuck-up, okay? Not even close. You are one of the smartest, most talented -"_

_"Quinn, stop it, okay? I DO fuck things up, all the time! I get in trouble with Figgins, like, weekly, I was always getting shit on Cheerios, my parents think I'm this juvenile discipline problem, even the freaking Glee club hates me. I don't need to, like, cry about it or anything, I'm just sick of it, that's all. Just fucking drop it," Santana barked, flinging herself backward on the bed and folding her arms tightly across her chest._

_After the words left her mouth, she wished, as usual, that she had thought a little more before acting, especially since she didn't miss the look of discouragement flash through Quinn's eyes. But even if she would never admit it aloud, Santana was always silently grateful for Quinn's refusal to "drop it" right away when she truly needed some encouragement - and her ability to "read minds."_

_Quinn sat on the edge of the bed facing Santana. "One last thing, and then I'll drop if," she started. "Should you should maybe try to consider the end result of things more rather than making impulse decisions? Probably. But if you're waiting for me to call you a fuck-up, you'll have to keep waiting, because I never will. You're human, you make mistakes, and for every quality that needs work, you have 2 amazing ones, if not more; qualities that I love. So, don't be so hard on yourself."_

Of course now that Santana needed those words of encouragement more than ever before, they were no where to be found.

Literally. In the weeks since Valentine's Day, it seemed like she and Quinn barely even saw each other anymore. At first, Santana would do her best to rush home after a long day of additional penance to that prick Jerry for "losing the Midwest deal." But if it wasn't enough of a challenge to catch Quinn awake, it was to catch her at all. Santana's mind traveled through purgatory and back wondering where the other girl was; if she was meeting girls, if she was seeing someone, and then she remembered that her thinking that way was what got her in trouble before with the whole Becca debacle, so she did everything possible to lengthen her time away from the apartment.

The rare times that they did end up at the same place at the same time, strangely, things were seemingly more civil than ever. Small talk was upheld, pleasant smiles were exchanged... a far cry from how things were at the beginning. In its own way, however, this startled Santana more than ever. Now, instead of being able to write off the awkwardness to unresolved feelings brewing under the surface, they felt more like roommates... friends. Not exes. Not even a reminder of everything they shared.

Hands bustling with files and other work materials, Santana arrived back at the apartment at noon. The last thing she wanted to do was fly to fucking God-forsaken Arizona for a week, but it was yet another consequence she had to deal with. She hadn't gotten a chance to mention to Quinn she'd be leaving yet, but she figured she'd worry about that later, since she still had to shower, change, and pack for her 3:35 flight.

Santana found showering to be one of life's simple joys, and a ritual of sorts she always took solace in. She always flung open and shut the bathroom door with a flair, stripped off her clothes in one swift motion, and examined herself in the mirror for a few moments before running the water.

What wasn't part of her ritual was Quinn barging through the door - completely naked.

Quinn quickly crossed her legs and used her hands and arms to cover her upper body. "Ohhhh, my God! -"

" - Holy shit! What are you doing home?" Santana jolted backward, mimicking the motion.

"Tuesday's my new day off! What are you doing home?" Quinn returned.

"Business trip. I fly out in a few hours," Santana answered, her heartbeat starting to deescalate.

"Oh," Quinn exhaled, appearing slightly disappointed. There was a moment of painfully awkward silence, and Santana was a bit surprised that Quinn hadn't raced out already, but she wasn't going to say anything. "Um, can you, hand me a towel?" she continued.

Santana turned to the rack behind her, grabbing Quinn's favorite towel before turning back to face her. Still, she paused before handing it over, momentarily hypnotized by the body she missed so much, not to mention some slight, yet noticeable changes. "You've filled out a bit," she commented.

The blonde raised her eyebrows and shifted so that her left arm was covering her upper body and reached for the towel with her right. "Wow, thanks," she scoffed, "That has to be the nicest way anyone's ever told me I'm getting fat."

The shorter girl pulled the towel back out of reach. A risk, she realized, but she wanted to make sure she was heard. "No! Not fat. I mean - it looks good. You're getting a nice shape." Santana absent-mindedly ran her hand over Quinn's bare hip, and before she could retract it, she couldn't help but notice the shuddered exhale that escaped the other girl's lips.

Quinn cleared her throat as her posture visibly relaxed. "Well, thanks. You look really good, too."

Santana suppressed a smile. She was glad her former girlfriend had noticed that she had started going to the gym to make up for her increasingly annoying and sedentary job. The  
fact that it lengthened her time away from the apartment, putting her at home usually after Quinn was asleep, was an additional motivation; it was easier to pretend the other girl wasn't ignoring her when she was passed out.

With a hard swallow, Santana lifted her remaining hand and gripped Quinn's other hip tightly, purposefully. She then let her burning brown eyes take their time working their way up the blonde's body until they finally locked with a smoky hazel gaze.

"Santana..." Quinn respired with a shiver, her tone ambiguous, but not enough to deter the Latina from at least trying to go for the thing she so desperately had been yearning for.

Leaning closer, Santana's eyes rolled back when their naked torsos connected, feeling immediate heat trapped between them. "Push me away if you don't want this..."

When she was close enough to feel Quinn's bated breath on her lips, she knew she had given the other girl ample time to protest, and with a deep exhale, crashed her mouth relentlessly into Quinn's.

It was electrifying.

Nothing subdued about their frantic connection, Santana and Quinn began to melt, to fuse together with every heated kiss and fiery touch. The blonde was near-panting with a dizzy look in her eyes as pale limbs gave way to a more sturdy, tan-skinned foundation. Santana felt Quinn's will to stand on her own begin to deplete and with a hand behind the blonde's head, quickly backed her into the now closed bathroom door to provide the added support.

As the feeling of Quinn's tender lips against her neck created a delicious yet insatiable ache all over her body, Santana pressed herself even closer to the other girl, her knee brushing between Quinn's legs. Instantly, she was rewarded with a guttural groan from the blonde, her knee now covered in moisture.

"God, you're so wet," Santana couldn't help but utter.

She considered several times doing this "the right way" by taking Quinn and their heated connection to the bedroom, but part of her was terrified to move. This was the closest they had been in weeks, and it was Santana's one chance to remind Quinn of the magic that only the two of them together could create.

Dragging her fingertips down silky skin, Santana left a trail of goosebumps in tow until everything - time, breathing, heartbeats - seemed to stop when her right hand finally became reacquainted with Quinn's inner thigh for the first time in a long time.

When Santana entered Quinn, two fingers buried in eager, hot wetness, both of them sharply gasped.

She knew she had correctly remembered the exact pace, rhythm, and angle that drove Quinn wild when the blonde threw her head back against the bathroom door, high-pitched moans fleeing her involuntarily. "So... good," she whispered quietly, having completely given in to Santana's touch.

The gentle, almost frail tone in Quinn's voice sent a euphoric chill straight up Santana's back. She knew that tone. It wasn't the one Quinn used when they were forced to have a quickie before work or on a 15-minute lunch break. It wasn't the one Quinn used after sending sexually-charged text messages all day detailing how horny she was and everything she wanted to do to Santana when she got home. This was the tone that Quinn reserved for making love; for the utterances between soft, meaningful kisses brought on by a reaffirming of their powerful, mutual adoration for one another. Quinn still loved her. Quinn was still IN love with her.

Santana stilled her fingers inside of Quinn, withdrawing slowly before re-entering just as slowly and prompting hazel eyes to open and look her way, just as she hoped. She wanted their eyes to meet when she said this.

"Yes..." Santana breathed out shakily, "this IS so good."


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: It depresses me that I didn't come up with the idea for Glee first ;)**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you for making it to Chapter 6! I think there are a few more chapters to come, and I hope to have you all along for the ride after this as well. Those of you reading and particularly reviewing have been nothing short of remarkable, and I continue to write with not disappointing all of you in mind! Please read, review, and enjoy!**

Santana was only airborne for a second before she hit the bed on her back, but it felt like flying; soaring even. Her still-nude body was engulfed by the white feathery down comforter, and the cool and airy surface caused goosebumps to spring up all over like fresh flowers aching for a gentle rain.

She was soon pulled down from her fictional cloud and brought back to a tangible heaven when she felt the weight of Quinn's body on top of hers. The blonde's silk-like palms ran up her midsection and over her breasts before settling on either side of her face, leading their lips into a collision once more. Santana didn't even try to stop herself from smiling into the kiss, suddenly remembering Quinn's passion for topping her: a feat no one else could claim to have ever done.

Before she and Quinn started dating, the Latina was famous for the constant need to dominate her conquests. But once they started having sex, and Quinn's nervous inexperience gave way to confident know-how, the more hidden, yet still existent, head bitch in charge within began to emerge in the bedroom. Stubborn and put off at first by this unusual change in the balance of power, in time, Santana started to enjoy the mischievous expression that commanded Quinn's features whenever she would crawl out from under her. Eventually, it became an expectation, something she awaited eagerly; after all, she took pride in the fact that she had taught her girlfriend very, very well.

Santana's eyes snapped open at the feeling of her nipple trapped between Quinn's pearly, perfect teeth, and she pushed a pillow under her thrown back head so she could enjoy the view that she still could barely believe. Quinn was the fire to her ice, and together, they created some amazing steam.

Right as Quinn's heated tongue was painting teasing lines over Santana's bikini line, the blaring ringtone that they both knew signified a call from Jerry sounded from the other room. Slitted green eyes flashed up a warning before continuing her mouth's descent, and Santana herself tried to block out the distraction, but the bedside clock reading 1:10 taunted her to take the call.

Combing blonde hair through her fingers to get her attention, she planted a kiss on the other girl's lips before shimmying quickly off the bed. "It's probably about my trip, baby, one second..."

Santana barely caught her breath before answering, leaving it on the defaulted speakerphone that she had it set to for driving. "Hello?" she asked, pacing the area outside the open bedroom door.

"Lopez!" Jerry barked, "Why is your external hard drive here? Don't you need it for the trip?"

She rolled her eyes. His lack of faith in her after years of flawless, tireless work never failed to astound. "Don't worry, I have a back-up. It's already packed."

He cleared his throat. "Oh. Good. You gonna be on time? Not out, getting your nails done or something?"

This time she let flecks of her disdain show in her voice. "I can handle it, Jerry."

"You better. 'Cause this account is gold for us, so I don't care what you have to do. Kiss their ass, rape their ass, show them your ass, whatever it takes."

She rolled her eyes yet again and let out a faintly amused, mostly nervous chuckle. Jerry's crude candor was nothing new. "I've got it covered. I'll call you when I get there."

"Good," Jerry stated before hanging up the phone.

Tossing her phone and running back into the bedroom, Santana came to a short stop when she saw Quinn putting her clothes back on. Her own clothes back on. She knew she was fucked.

_When Quinn's tremors faded to slow, shuddered breathing, Santana smirked and kissed her way back up her girlfriend's body before showering her with short, sweaty kisses, enjoying the deep exhale against her lips when she pulled her fingers out of Quinn._

_A lazy smile played on Quinn's mouth as she spoke in a whisper. "That was incredible."_

_"I know," Santana affirmed, with playful conceit before another, longer kiss. "But my parents are gonna be home soon, so we should probably get dressed."_

_Quinn feigned a sigh of annoyance before smiling once more. "If we must."_

_Santana reached over the side of the bed onto the floor and picked up Quinn's clothes, holding them out in her direction._ _Instead, Quinn stood from the bed and walked over to Santana's hamper and started going through shirts._

_Santana wore a bemused expression as she pulled on her underwear. "What are you doing?"_

_The blonde assessed one of Santana's pajama shirts and slipped it on before doing the same with a pair of her shorts. "I don't know, I kind of like the idea of wearing your clothes after... that," she replied coyly._

_"Well, you could wear something clean there, Babe," Santana laughed._

_Quinn walked back over to the bed with a blush, shuffling her feet on the side of the bed that Santana's now dressed legs dangled off of. "Yeahhhh, but... then they wouldn't smell like you. And then what's the point? This way... I feel close to you."_

_One of Santana's rarer, full-teeth smiles broke out over her face as she leaned in once more to kiss her girlfriend. "Of course. What was I thinking?" she asked playfully. "Wanna make out until they get home?"_

_Raising an eyebrow wickedly, Quinn formed a smirk of her own. "As long as I get to be on top," she conditioned before pushing Santana backward and lunging toward her lips._

"Oh.. um.. are we... done?" Santana asked awkwardly, suddenly feeling both very naked and very cold in contrast to her racing heartbeat. "It was work on the phone, Babe, I had to take it."

Quinn faced away from the Latina while she fed her arms through her bra straps. "Yeah, I heard," she remarked flatly, "I didn't realize there was so much ass showing and kissing and raping in your job, Santana."

"That's just the way Jerry is -"

"And that couldn't have waited five minutes?" Quinn shouted, and Santana would have been offended if it wasn't a fairly accurate estimation of how long it took her to finish under the other girl's expert touch. "You just showed me once again who the real Santana is and what your real priorities are!"

Feeling just as vulnerable as she did frustrated, Santana quickly pulled her clothes on in an attempt to make things even a fraction less awkward, if it all possible. "Fuck, that's so unfair! You can't just always focus on the negative, Quinn! I'm human, I make mistakes!"

"That is not the issue here! A mistake is losing your temper or misjudging a situation or taking out a bad mood on someone, both of which we've done to each other and forgiven countless times, but your heart and time and energy constantly being invested in something else above me first and foremost ALL the time isn't a mistake, it's a choice! You know, I almost did it, I almost fell back into this with you just now, and I can't ignore the fact that right before I could fully give in, the epitome of everything I've been battling against happens, and I think that just says it all."

The muscles jumped in her balled-up fists. She wanted to punch something. She took a moment to fume silently instead. "All right, you know what? I realize I dropped the ball. Yet again. What a fucking surprise. But since you've made it clear that you're not even going to hear me out, then you're right, I guess there is nothing left to say. And I have a plane to catch."

"Whatever, Santana. Have a good trip," Quinn sneered sarcastically and rolled her eyes before slamming the bedroom door.

Santana didn't even try to conceal the pent up, almost primal scream that came from somewhere deep within her battered soul. No time left to primp, she yanked her briefcase and suitcase from their resting places on the floor and didn't even bother to look in the mirror before leaving, deciding she would worry about that later when she was several time zones away and far less steamed. Every opportunity, every attempt, everything she had tried to do to prove herself worthy to Quinn, a task that never used to be a task, had failed. Her charm and affection, which used to be effortless, were now non-existent, and as Santana was coming to realize, likely gone forever. She wiped away a few threats of tears before coming to what seemed to be an inevitable conclusion:

She was done trying. It was really over.


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER: It breaks my heart that Glee isn't mine.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: At long last, a (lengthy, at least) update! As many fellow writers know, we're not always fortunate enough to have free time and inspiration at once. I began this chapter a week ago, but it wasn't working, so I recently made huge structural changes that took extra time.**

**One thing for faithful Glee viewers: I struggled with the portrayal of Santana's family's finances in this story a lot. In the "Britney/Brittany" episode, she tells Carl her dad is a doctor, but in "Silly Love Songs" she goes on about living Lima Heights Adjacent and being from the wrong side of the tracks, etc. So, since it serves my story better, I'm going with the latter and leave you all to use your own imagination regarding whether her dad might have been laid off, she lied about her dad's profession out of embarrassment, etc.**

**Again, thank you for those who have been patient and are still reading. To those of you who continuously review, I am particularly grateful. Without further ado, enjoy, and please share your thoughts with me!**

Before she could stop herself, Santana's hard-clenched fist crashed into the door of her apartment, slamming it shut and leaving a scar of her anger that was impossible to miss. Her outcry of heart-wrenching rage had only built up to a scalding boil since leaving the office, where she went as far as to take a taxi and leave her car overnight rather than drive and risk the recklessness she knew was inevitable. Not since Noah Puckerman had gotten Quinn pregnant in high school could Santana remember being this worked up, and a guttural groan of anger quickly turned to crushed sobs.

The rustic lamp suddenly shed its gentle glow from the end table next to the couch, illuminating a startled-awake Quinn, and causing Santana, in record time, to compose herself completely, dry eyes and all.

"What's happening, what's wrong?" she asked, the deep sleep she just left visible in her features.

An unexpected burn commanded Santana's chest, only to be instantly chilled by a shiver down her spine. It was the first time she heard Quinn's voice in almost a month.

On the plane back from her business trip, Santana was already grappling with what, if anything, she could say to Quinn when she returned. Her anger and defeat from their fight before she left combined with her guilty conscience after having one-night stands almost every night with different (blonde, female) locals left her intrinsically speechless. Knowing her spectacular talent for putting her foot further and further in her mouth, she wasn't sure if she should try and change that, and decided to let Quinn take the lead. Only she never did. When greeted in silence upon her return, Santana stubbornly confirmed to herself that them being over for good was true. In a weird way, not talking at all made the truth hit home more easily, and she was starting to think she preferred it that way.

As if her emotional entrance had been a figment of Quinn's imagination, Santana replied with her at times trademark incredulous sarcasm. "There's no need to, like, panic, I'm fine. It's just work stuff."

Quinn rubbed her eyes and sighed. "Okay..."

"And please, save the 'I told you so's' and 'serves you rights' for behind my back, because I really don't want to fucking hear it right now," Santana added as she walked through the living room without making eye contact.

"I wasn't going to!" Quinn shouted back, her voice cracking from the remnants of sleep mixed with frustration.

Santana paused just short of the bedroom and breathed deeply. She knew that she and Quinn were going to have to talk eventually, and she didn't want it to start with Quinn being the recipient of her misdirected anger. "I know. You're just trying to be nice, and I appreciate it and shouldn't be taking my day out on you." She left a beat of silence for Quinn to reply, and when she didn't, continued. "I'm sorry for waking you."

But before she could disappear from the room, Quinn cut in with a valid point that once again stopped the Latina in her tracks. "Santana, 'just work' has never pushed you to the point of tears before. I know things have been weird, but... you can talk to me about it. I'm kind of hoping you do now since I'm gonna like, wonder about it."

"Quinn -" she cautioned, unsure if this was really a good idea.

"-Was it Jerry? Did he say something? Do something?" Quinn paused, her expression sinking as a sinister thought overpowered her mind. "Oh my God, he didn't like... DO anything, did he? Like, touch you or..."

"No, no, nothing like that, but..." she felt her bottom lip waver and despite her greatest efforts, the tears Santana had so seamlessly eliminated came sweeping back like a powerful wind, "God, I feel like he might as well have, I feel just as... taken advantage of and disrespected... and fucking furious!"

Quinn shuffled the blanket to the floor and, lifting herself up from a laying position, pulled her knees to her chest, leaving three-quarters of the couch vacant. "Tell me what happened," she commanded softly, motioning to the empty space with a nod, which Santana affirmed by taking a seat.

Upon sitting, Santana crossed her legs Indian-style, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed as she absent-mindedly picked at the nail polish on her toes, the way she always picked at something when she was nervous. Her eyes met Quinn's in the rare moments that she could muster up the courage to do so, but apart from that, her stare remained downcast. "So, you remember how Jerry announced that we're getting a new Marketing division just for external affairs like, way back in late November?" Upon Quinn's nod, she took a breath and kept going. "Okay, well obviously I was really campaigning hard for the supervisor position, especially since it's everything I'm already doing but with the ability to focus on a specific, important group of people. _And, _the supervisor also gets their own team, which would let me actually utilize my benefits and vacations, and everyone in my department already asks me what to do anyway, so I pretty much already have experience keeping a bunch of incompetents in line. And even though I know all of this and Jerry knows all of this, I've been busting my ass the last few weeks, staying late, taking meetings, coming up with new strategies, all but fucking tattooing 'This job is mine, bitches' on my forehead."

Having a feeling where this was headed, Quinn spoke up. "So, it didn't pan out like you were hoping, I'm guessing?"

"Oh, no. Not only did I _not _get the supervisor position, I didn't even get moved to the new department! So, Andrew, Marcus, Riley - remember Riley who showed up to the Parent Account presentation still drunk from the night before? All of them got transferred _and_ a pay raise!"

Longtime missed compassion appeared in the blonde's eyes. "I'm really sorry."

"Wait," Santana replied, holding up a finger, "It gets worse. Back to the supervisor position... on the off chance that it wasn't going to be me, I figured it had to be Ray or even Luke, both hard workers in their own right, although they haven't been there as long as I have or can do as much as I can, but I digress. So, who actually gets it? Fucking Todd."

Quinn's brow furrowed. "Who's Todd?"

Santana bitterly smirked, knowing that reinforced her point. "Remember when I told you about that entitled little douche bag that Jerry only hired because his father is our head contact for the American Express account?"

"Yeah, but... that was, what..." Quinn looked skyward as she calculated in her head, "6 months ago?"

"Exactly. I've been there working like a dog for 3 years. Todd's been there 6 goddamn months, and if it weren't for Jerry ass-kissing his father, I guarantee he wouldn't have even gotten an interview."

"Wow," Quinn uttered, "I'm really sorry."

"But wait," Santana pressed on with mock excitement, "there's still more! We found out today that in addition to an insane pay raise, the Internal Marketing division also needs its own brand new wing."

Once again, Quinn appeared confused. "How is that even possible? Each time I was there, you couldn't take two steps without knocking into someone else's cubicle or office or sector. Where's it going to go?"

"Excellent question!" The satire in her voice was so over-the-top at this point, that Santana swore she saw Quinn fight a smile, which gave her the slightest rush of butterflies before being brought back to the reality of what she was about to say. "Since Maddie, Danielle, and myself are the only women, they decided to knock down our bathroom and turn the Men's into unisex to make room for the new wing."

"What?" Quinn asked in disbelief, "Can they even do that?"

"It's legal," Santana answered flatly, "I checked."

"What about Maddie and Danielle? They must be pissed, too. The three of you should go to Jerry together so it's not just you on the front line."

The darker girl sighed. "They don't even care, not like they really should. They're receptionists who work 4 hours a day, they can totally hold it if they really feel uncomfortable. For me, that bathroom has been my one place of respite. Whenever I'm stressed, or need a minute, or the guys or heckling me -"

"- Or sexually harassing you," Quinn muttered pointedly. Santana didn't respond. She couldn't.

"I'm not trying to sound sarcastic or whatever, I'm genuinely asking..." Quinn began cautiously before releasing a deep breath, "How do you do it? Seriously, with everything that's happened over the years, how do you go to that place every day and not go absolutely crazy?"

While her first reaction was still to feel slightly defensive, Santana couldn't ignore the fact that she had asked herself that very question a lot, especially lately. But still, she knew she had her reasons. "Well... it's a respectable career, especially for someone my age, killer pay, close by -"

"But you don't love it. I know you don't. You don't even like it," Quinn interrupted in near-bemusement.

Running a hand over the clasp of the clip that held half her hair up, Santana laughed bitterly as she set her raven locks free. "I've known for more than awhile now that it wasn't going to be about finding a job I was crazy about for me, so I'm really not that bothered or surprised by that."

"What's it about then?" the green-eyed girl asked rhetorically.

But without missing a beat, Santana replied immediately. "Providing. Finding a skill and working your ass off and making the money you need to live the life you want. You remember what it was like at my house... We did without a lot, and that was after you and I both started working at the mall to pick up some slack."

"Yeah, but we got by," Quinn insisted.

Santana went back to picking at her polish. "Right, with freezing cold showers, one ancient car, and Family Dollar groceries. If I had a nickel for every time my dad lamented that he wish he could have given nicer things and a better life to my mom..." she allowed herself to momentarily get lost in her memories before snapping back to reality, the change visible in her deep brown eyes. "I just swore I'd never let that happen to me in my relationship...s."

Quinn's eyes widened before becoming serious. "Are you saying you did it for me?"

Santana's cheeks burned. "Well, yeah, in part at least, I mean, how could I not? You were brought up in ridiculous money and no one's life should be turned upside down because their parents are assholes. I mean of course I wanted to be stable and have nice things for myself, too, but in order to put us up in a nice place and have a good car and go on trips and make sure I could really go in with the big gestures, I had to make the money to accommodate that. I don't really see how that's a bad thing."

Quinn's expression was hard to read, and Santana waited nervously as she could see her forming a response in her head. "I'm not saying it's bad, it's just... I never needed any of that stuff, or even wanted it, really. I mean, yeah, it was nice at times and I always appreciated it, but.. I only really wanted you, Santi."

As if something had startled them, both of their gazes jumped to a deadlock, and while she couldn't speak for Quinn, Santana was brought back to junior year of high school:

_"You need a nickname," Quinn stated abruptly, breaking the silence of Santana's dark bedroom and postponing their attempts at early bed on school nights like she almost always did._

_Santana rolled over to face her girlfriend, eyes adjusting to make out her face in the blackness. "Why's that?"_

_"Because..." she began to 'reason'. "Santana is kind of a mouthful. Especially during sex," she added, causing them both to laugh. "Plus, no one pronounces it the real way, the way your parents do. It's so much prettier."_

_She scoffed. "Yeah, that's 'cuz no one gave my parents the memo that this is Ohio, not Puerto Rico. You could just shorten it to 'S', that's happened before."_

_"So, you call me Q and I call you S? What are we, badly-written TV characters?" Quinn retorted sarcastically. "I want something more unique. Something no one else calls you."_

_"Don't even THINK about anything ga -" Santana cut herself off before Quinn could scold her for making 'gay' synonymous with 'stupid' and chose a different word, "lame - like pumpkin or cookie or pookie if you expect me to answer."_

_Quinn's gaze narrowed. "Please, give me a little credit. How about... Santi?" _

_"Santi?" she replied with raised eyebrows. "Where does the 'e' sound come from?"_

_"I don't know, nowhere, just..." a troublesome smirk appeared on the blonde's lips, "I mean, I could call you Santa if you prefer."_

_"Um, no..."_

_"Or Satan, but that wouldn't separate me from most of the Glee club," Quinn continued to jab._

_"Quinn..." she warned._

_"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Quinn relented. "But no one calls you Santi, right? It can be just for you and me."_

_Santana rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile while doing so, which seemed to be an epidemic when she was around Quinn. She didn't love the nickname. All she could think was that it sounded like something a drag queen would be named, or that it rhymed with pantie. But nonetheless, the idea of having one more thing for only she and Quinn to share won her over._

_"Okay," she exhaled with a bigger smile this time, "Santi it is."_

Quinn cleared her throat before tentatively speaking up once more. "But yeah, what I mean is, you should do something that makes you happy. At the end of the day, that's what's most important."

Santana swore her ears were ringing. She wanted to speak, but the rushing of her head seemed to paralyze her vocal chords. _We could still be happy. Together, _she thought and tried to will herself to say it aloud.

"I'm living proof that it's possible to pay the bills while doing something that you love." Quinn went on. "I know that... maybe this isn't the best time to bring this up, but I actually found a place. A one-bedroom. It'll be available in 3 weeks."

A burgeoning weight sunk Santana's stomach, and choked back the tears that were challenging her resolve all-too-frequently as of late. "Oh," she feigned excitement for her, "that's great. Where at?"

"Um, it's on the Lower East Side, so it'll be a bit of a commute. It's nothing fancy, but... I like it, you know?"

As much as her former resolutions that their relationship was over, Santana had secretly clung to the hope all along that they could turn things around and have a second chance. But seeing now that Quinn was settled, doing well, and moving on with her life, she knew she had no place to prevent that - for either one of them.

She stopped to gather herself before forcing a grin. "Yeah, no, that's great, Quinn. I'm proud of you."

Stunning olive-colored eyes shimmered. "Thank you."

After a moment of hard-to-bear silence, Santana moved to her feet. "Well, I'm spent and I'm sure I've kept you up long enough."

Quinn half-smiled. "Okay. Good night, Santana."

Turning around in the doorway of her bedroom, Santana took a few seconds to preserve one of her now-limited moments of sharing a home with her high school sweetheart and love of her life. "Good night, Quinn."


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER: Sadly, Glee is not mine.**

**LONGEST AUTHOR'S NOTE EVER TO MY WONDERFUL READERS: You guys have been so amazing. Truly. All of your comments have both touched and inspired me during a time in both my literary and personal lives where I really needed it. I hope regardless of what you all were hoping for and expected that you enjoy this. The upside is, it's practically a separate fic on its own (LOL), as it breaks into 3 parts and is almost 6,500 words in length. Needless to say, I hope it is worth the wait. Again, thank you so very much to all of you who have come on this journey with me. I hope you had as much fun as I did, and I can't wait to go interact with you all soon via reviews to this and through everyone else's amazing contributions to this site. **

Week 1

It was only when she started adding splotches of white to the blue paint mixture that Santana remembered how much she loved the feeling of a paintbrush in her hand. The porous wooden handle against her skin and gentle contrast of the bristles through the paint and likewise across the canvas exhilarated her in ways that few other things could. The fact that she hadn't taken to an easel since high school made her feel especially euphoric.

It seemed an unlikely passion, even to Santana herself, as well as one that she could never really explain to inquiring minds. Usually people questioned her with a tilted head and crinkled nose, unable to fathom a softer, more artistic side to the often-unruly girl. She would always sling her arm across her body and hold the opposite elbow, looking away as she muttered nonchalantly that painting was just something she liked. But in truth, it was much more than that. She would never admit it because of the laughter and comments it would elicit, but part of it was about control. With a palette at her disposal, she was given a power over the clean white tableau that she would never have over her own life, and especially now, a little control, a little ability to get things right and beautiful, was exactly what she needed.

Santana lathered her fine-haired brush in the now pale blue shade and squinted to a focus as she dragged it over the pencil outline she drew before. As she curved the tip sideways to create creases in the painted blanket, an abrupt jolt caused an unwanted streak across the canvas as she was startled into a stiff freeze by Quinn moving around on the couch. After about 10 seconds of sucked in, shallow breathing, she slowly exhaled in relief when she realized she hadn't been caught, and the blonde had merely been stirring in her sleep. Just as suddenly as she stopped, she quickly picked her tools back up and rushed to fix the accidental smear before it was too late.

This was the 3rd of the 4 nights since the two broke their collective silence that Quinn became Santana's model - her unwitting, unconscious model.

After successfully correcting her mistake, Santana sighed in frustration when she saw that Quinn had rolled over in her sleep and away from her view. While she silently cursed this sudden _lack_of control, she thought back to the most memorable instance where that small, two-syllable word moved to the forefront of her life as a person and her relationship with Quinn.

_When Santana saw her girlfriend approaching Fordham's campus police office with a dangerous look in her eye, she slumped even further down in her chair in the lobby, tucking her wrapped fist into her sweatshirt pocket and hoping by some miracle of God that she could save the interrogation for later, when they were alone._

_The screen door flung open and shut with a resounding slam as Quinn bustled past the poor transfer student waiting for his parking permit and stood directly over Santana. "What the hell happened?" Miracle denied._

_With her good hand, Santana pulled Quinn down into the chair beside her, speaking in an urgent hush as the door to the main office opened and a campus official called in the new student. "You need to keep it down, I'm in enough trouble as it is!"_

_"Well, YOU need to tell me what's going on! I've already heard about 10 versions from people around campus, now it's your turn!" Quinn replied just as angrily, yet more quietly, her darkened eyes scanning back and forth._

_Santana glanced to her right to confirm that they were alone before turning back toward Quinn and speaking a touch more loudly. "What happened is your punk ass teammate started running her mouth and I stopped her."_

_The unbearable look of disappointment washed over pallid features as Quinn's jaw slowly dropped. "Oh, God, I thought that was just the rumor mill! You really got into a fight with Nicole?"_

_She crossed her arms. "I don't know, is that her name?" Santana asked facetiously, "All I know is she's the frumpy bitch who's had it coming ever since I caught you two flirting!"_

_"WHAT?" Quinn shrilled, a tone Santana normally claimed that only dogs could hear, but not when she was in the doghouse herself, "I have NEVER flirted with her, what are you even talking about?"_

_Santana leaned closer and refused to budge. "Um, hello, that introductory rugby meeting I went to with you! She fucking honed in on you the second you walked in, blatantly checked you out, and then with this dopey, girly smile on your face, you told her you bet she made a great hooker! I was standing right there!"_

_A moment of stunned silence elapsed before Quinn's singular eyebrow went up. "A hooker is a POSITION, Santana! The one Nicole plays!"_

_Silence. Embarrassment. Throat clear. "Well, I was right about the rest! She's obviously into you based on the fucking disgustingly foul lies she was spouting about you in the fitness center locker room to some of the other girls on your team!"_

_Quinn's expression sank to somewhere between confused, surprised, and hurt, and her voice followed suit. "What? What did she say?"_

_"I'm not going to tell you -"_

_" -No, seriously, you can -"_

_"No! Okay, you don't need to hear it and I sure as hell don't want to say it! All you need to know is that it was graphic, degrading bullshit about what she claimed happened between the two of you last night at the drink-up, which *I* walked you back to campus after before *I* went to sleep with you," Santana reiterated, for her own sake rather than Quinn's. "Oh, and for the record, it wasn't a fight. I kicked her ass."_

_After a deep sigh, Quinn stared at Santana blankly. "So, are you proud of yourself?"_

_"Um, yeah, and you should be, too! I defended you!" Santana scorned in reply._

_"Like a Neanderthal..."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_Quinn leaned forward a little too far into Santana's personal space, a technique she seemed to employ whenever she really wanted to be heard. "Santana, you are way too smart and classy and just... good to wind up situations like this. Anyone can throw a punch, that doesn't impress me."_

_Santana countered the maneuver by shifting her own weight forward and bearing her gaze directly into Quinn's. "Yeah, well I thought what__did__impress you was my passion and fire and that I don't take anyone's crap." She then slumped backward in her chair dejectedly. "You used to love that about me."_

_"I still do! Those are my favorite qualities of yours. But this passion and this fire have zero discipline, and that's when it changes from attractive to not in a split second. I learned firsthand that bullying people into submission won't get you anywhere, and now you're crossing into potential legal trouble, which is just so beyond avoidable."_

_Another beat of silence filled the air, and Santana straightened up in her chair to signify to Quinn that she was hearing her._

_"I will tell campus police that Nicole has been making me feel uncomfortable for awhile to at least try and add some credibility to your side of things," Quinn continued, "but you need to promise me you'll work harder to find better, more proactive ways to take control. Okay?"_

_Santana nodded and looked straight ahead, picking at the interior of her sweatshirt pocket with her uninjured hand before extending it to Quinn, who was now also looking forward._

_"Q," she prompted, earning Quinn's eye contact in return, "I'm sorry."_

_Quinn faintly smiled before locking her hand against Santana's. "I know you are."_

Still waiting for Quinn to turn back over, Santana sighed at the remembrance of the way things used to be, and how the 2 years that followed that incident produced a version of herself that she was proud of. A girl living life at its highest point with her love by her side, hard work, and the perfect combination of fire and control. Now, she was a far cry from the very person she once was. Quinn was no longer hers, her work ethic had gotten her nowhere, and she seemed completely void of both passion and discipline.

Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks, the very thought of this proverbial fetal position she found herself in sending a surge of formerly buried adrenaline through her bloodstream. This was _not_the way that Santana Motherfucking Lopez rolled (the 'M' actually stood for Maria, but in high school she had managed to convince a few of the Cheerios to the contrary). No more painting the life she wanted; it was time to get up and get it.

Week 2

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Santana woke up with a smile, arching backward across her bed in a thorough stretch that nearly connected the tips of her toes with the tips of her fingers. She took her time reveling in the soft sunlight that streamed through the window until the chill that also blew in covered her half-naked body in goosebumps. As she moved to the closet to slip into whatever work clothes she found first, she stopped at her window and actually took in the stunning view overlooking the city, remembering how in awe of it she was when first moving from Lima and how these days she took it for granted. Now especially, she was making an extra effort to appreciate even the little things in her life.

Throwing her hair into a tightly-pulled low ponytail, she gripped the doorknob tightly and attempted to turn it as quietly as possible as to not wake Quinn. But as she entered the living room, she saw her sitting up against the arm rest, lazily leafing through pages of the daily newspaper.

"Oh, hey," Santana greeted in pleasant surprise, "You're up early for a day off."

Quinn smiled sleepily before running the bases of her palms over tired eyes. "Yeah, I wish I wasn't," she lightly lamented, "but I need to start getting boxes and packing stuff and try to find decently priced movers before it's too late."

Santana swallowed hard to suppress the sting she suddenly felt when Quinn mentioned the move that most of the time, she managed to pretend wasn't happening. _An exercise in control_, she laughed bitterly to herself. She briefly considered offering to help her pack, but stopped herself. She hadn't evolved *that* much in 6 days.

"Did you have coffee already?" Santana asked as she moved into the kitchen.

"No, but I'd love some if you're offering," Quinn hinted.

"Nah, I was taking a survey about your caffeine consumption," Santana joked with a smirk.

An amused grin likewise spread over the blonde's face. "Charming as ever, I see."

"You know it! And yes, I'll get you a cup," she replied.

Quinn stretched with a yawn as she rhetorically asked what time it was while flipping her wrist over to check. "Whoa, hey, aren't you late? It's 8:20!"

It was the cue Santana had been waiting for. She mustered a straight face before turning to Quinn. "Eh, I feel like taking my time this morning," she said, moving slowly about the kitchen as she fixed Quinn's coffee first.

"Well, isn't Jerry going to, um, kill you?" the other girl asked, both eyebrows raised. "Remember, you don't have anywhere to hide anymore."

Santana laughed at the other girl's bewilderment as she walked toward her, coffee made. "Oh, relax, Jerry can't kill me. I mean, the worst he could do is fire me, but... since I quit, he can't really do that, either."

Quinn froze mid-reach for her mug and looked up, doe-eyed, at Santana. "Seriously? You quit?"

The Latina's grin gave way to a pearly smile. "I did. Yesterday. I would have told you last night, but you were asleep and I didn't want to wake you." After receiving nothing more than a still-baffled stare, Santana pushed the mug that she was still holding a little closer. "Um, Quinn? This is hot."

"Wait, wait, wait," Quinn said, taking her coffee and sitting up straight, "so... you just quit? The whole company? You never have to go back?"

Santana shifted her weight so that she was leaning forward against the back of the couch. "Well, as tempting as it was to bail, I did the whole professional two weeks notice thing, but now that I don't have to kiss anyone's ass anymore, I'm just doing the standard 9 to 5. No more crazy hours."

"I can't beli - I'm like, in shock!" Quinn laughed, her bemused expression fading and the brightness finally returning to her eyes. "Was the whole promotion and bathroom thing the last straw?"

Hearing her coffee finish brewing, Santana spoke louder as she returned to the kitchen to fix herself a cup to-go. "Well, partly, yeah. It definitely showed me where I stand as far as Jerry and the company are concerned. But honestly, I've been thinking about it for awhile now," she drew in a quick breath as she headed back to the living room, unsure if she should voice what she was compelled to say, but decided to anyway, "and I think it was mostly our talk the other night that really gave me that last shove."

Quinn smiled softly. "Really?"

"Yeah. When you asked me why I subject myself to such a horrible job, I didn't really have a good answer. I mean, I thought I did, I thought I was doing it for the right reasons, but it turns out that wasn't true, either, and knowing that now... knowing that this job actually pushed me away from everything I thought I was working toward and strengthening... and everything I love… just doesn't make it worth it."

The air grew quiet and slightly tense as they both processed the not-so-subtle euphemisms that Santana used to describe their former relationship.

Not wanting to make things worse, Santana quickly chimed back in. "But, uh, yeah, I'm already feeling so relieved. Although, I could definitely use those housing ads you looked through if you still have them. I'm gonna need a smaller place."

The blonde looked up in surprise once more. "Really? Why? With your resume and reputation, you'll find a new Marketing job in a second, probably even a better one."

Santana smiled nervously at the other girl's faith in her and scratched at the remnants of dried coffee on the side of her travel mug. "Um, well, I'm actually not getting back into Marketing. I was... thinking of pursuing art. You know, build up a portfolio of paintings and drawings and start gauging the market for design and illustrator jobs."

"Oh, wow -"

Gaze still fixated elsewhere, Santana quickly cut back in. "It probably seems irresponsible, but worst case, I can always freelance for a little while, you know, and see what happens, since I have the rest of my bonus and of course my savings to pay the bills. I don't know, maybe it's crazy, I just don't want to look back and -"

Santana's speaking and entire range of motion stopped when she felt a hand on hers. She hadn't felt Quinn's touch since the ill-fated sex incident, and she quickly curbed a stifled gasp as her stare slowly transferred from Quinn's hand to her eyes.

"Santana," Quinn giggled at the other girl's uncharacteristic ramble, "I think it sounds amazing. I'm really proud of you."

A sheepish smile curved Santana's lips before she caught a glimpse of the other girl's wristwatch. "Oh, okay, well now I _am_ going to be late," she said with a subtle laugh as she reluctantly moved away from Quinn's touch. She grabbed her briefcase from the kitchen floor but before she could leave, something compelled her to turn toward the living room once more. "Hey?"

Quinn folded back the top half of her newspaper so she could meet Santana's eyes.

"Since I'll actually be getting home before midnight tonight, would you maybe wanna have some dinner? I can make my mom's arroz con pollo and we can, you know, catch up?" she asked, hoping that Quinn's favorite Mexican dish would tip the scales in her favor.

The near-blinding smile that somehow made the blonde more beautiful than usual answered Santana's question before Quinn could verbally. "Yeah. That'd be great."

Santana smiled in return before saying good bye and heading toward the elevator. She couldn't help the pang of disappointment she felt deep inside when Quinn didn't make a running jump for her arms and seal it with a passionate kiss at the news of her quitting. Even though she knew she shouldn't, part of her was hoping that since the job seemed to be the source of so many of their problems, once it was eliminated, everything would magically be okay.

It wasn't the first time she learned the hard way that some things simply break beyond repair.

Still, in her head she composed the shopping list for their dinner, considering side dishes and maybe a dessert she could make, too. She and Quinn were over, but her love for her high school sweetheart was still ingrained deeply within her, perhaps now more than ever before (although she hated to consider such a tragedy). Regardless, she knew that the next several days would be about one thing: doing all she could to make Quinn feel happy and special while the privilege of her company was still afforded to her.

Week 3

Santana doubled over in her kitchen chair, holding up her pointer finger to Quinn since the side-splitting, silent laughter rendered her unable to actually say that she needed a minute to catch her breath.

Over the past week and a half, they had developed this unspoken tradition of sorts that involved coming home from work, eating dinner together, and then collapsing on the couch for an evening of movie or TV watching. The last part of their evening was always delayed, however, until they were done rehashing old memories, usually to the point of forgivably painful laughter.

Every time she looked at her girlfriend-turned-roommate, Santana attempted to rationalize time and again that it was merely the companionship that she had missed so much and was now infinitely happier in its presence. Still, she couldn't deny the pulsing of her stomach at something as simple as receiving a text from Quinn during the day, even if it was just to ask what to pick up for dinner. She started reconnecting with friends she had lost touch with in preparation for her impending lifestyle change, and while she enjoyed their company, they failed to induce the near audible pounding of her heartbeat the way the blonde's smile always could. Whether right or wrong, Santana would do just about anything to see it, like insisting on cooking each night, bringing home flowers for the dining room table, and perhaps most surprisingly, allowing Quinn to dig up even her most embarrassing of moments for some killer amusement.

Quinn dabbed the corners of her eyes as she, too, caught her breath from laughing so hard. "I still can't believe you didn't break anything. There was so much blood!"

"Ahh, God, I know, can you imagine if I had? It would have been the price I paid for trying to show up Puckerman and impress you myself!" Santana smirked.

A fair-skinned hand gave Santana a teasing swat. "Oh, please, because I was so swooning when he jumped over the piano!"

"The _grand_ piano," Santana quickly corrected, "which is short and flat, anyone taller than 4 feet can do that! I went for the auditorium piano, which was way harder!"

"Yes, and on wheels, hence the fall and the crash and the blood!" Quinn exclaimed before they both began to laugh once more.

Santana mock-stubbornly folded her arms. "Whatever, I so would have made it had it not been for the unfortunate mobility of the piano."

"Sure, sure," Quinn jested with a smile before taking the last few bites of her dinner.

Seeing the other girl completely satiated and relaxed, Santana cleared her throat, knowing that now was the best time to bring up something she had been afraid to approach. "So, not to interrupt up your enjoyment at my expense, but I need to talk to you about something."

Quinn leaned forward in her chair. "Okay."

"Well, I've been looking at some apartments and answering some ads for roommate requests -"

Quinn interrupted with a chuckle. "Roommate requests? You?"

Santana narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, trust that it lasted about half a day. Anyway, there are some decent places for rent all over Manhattan, and I actually have my eye on one but I kind of wanted to run it by you first."

"Okay, but... how come?" Quinn asked cautiously, yet obviously confused. "I don't have - you know - you don't need my permission."

"I know, but... it's in your building. A studio on the 1st floor. I was gonna get a one bedroom, but figured I should hold off until I know I have money coming in, and there's only one left in the complex, so I want to get back to the landlord soon," she took a deep breath before continuing. "I know we're not - together anymore, but you've been in my life for too long for me to imagine you not in it, even if it is just as a friend. But I wanted to make sure you'd be okay with me being so close by before I said yes."

Quinn's expression remained ambiguous, almost startled for a second until an uncertain grin appeared. "Yeah. That would be nice."

"You sure? I won't, like, be offended or anything..."

A bittersweet laugh escaped Quinn. "And to think at times like this I miss the 'To hell with what you want, I'm doing things my way' side of you. I'm sure, Santana."

"Well, good, 'cause I didn't really care what you wanted anyway," Santana jested, pausing to enjoy the laugh that she knew she would earn from Quinn before switching gears. "Okay, I'll load the dishwasher, you go find something to watch on TV? And by find something I of course mean go to Lifetime for the Jilted Lovers' Movie Marathon."

A single eyebrow darted up with a grin. "Now, _that's_more like it. Calling the shots and having a bizarre fascination with Lifetime movies."

"Oh, don't even! You know you love them, too! When we watched _The Truth About Jane_ you cried for 3 days!"

"Well, yeah, because it was like my life in high school, just, you know, without the happy ending!" Quinn rushed to defend herself. "I'm not sure how well I can relate to 3 hours of 'gold diggers and the men who get shot by them'."

Santana sighed with purposeful dramatics as she flung herself backward onto the couch. "Let's just watch something else then."

"No, no, I'll watch it with you," Quinn replied, both smiling and rolling her eyes simultaneously. "I'm a good friend."

The Latina threw her head back in a loud cackle of a laugh. "Oh, please," she began, draping her feet across the other girl's lap, "You just won't admit that you have been dying to see these jilted lovers."

Later that night, Santana found herself in the middle of one of her trademark vivid dreams.

She was back in high school, performing with the Glee Club at Regionals. The memory of performing flooded her sleeping body with long-forgotten adrenaline, and all of it felt so real once more. Of course in the moment she didn't find it odd that her dream self was in her Cheerios uniform, several of her college friends were there, and that the competition was being held in a parking lot, but after all, stranger things had happened in her sleep.

Standing between Quinn and Brittany, likely a metaphor for the way she always seemed to feel in those days, she took slow, shaky-legged steps forward from the group. Raising a microphone to her lips, she was poised to take the lead on a rock ballad that in reality, they had never performed. In fact, it was one she only knew in recent times after scouring the internet for heartsick, break-up songs for the days that she simply needed to mourn.

Before she could even get halfway through the first verse, she felt herself lose her footing and fall backward, slowly enough to taste every second of fear, yet too quickly to do anything to stop it.

Inexplicably no longer in performance clothes, Quinn was suddenly above her, shaking her gently with concern in her eyes. "Santana. Santana, wake up."

As her eyes opened, they immediately squinted at the sting of the streaming moonlight from her bedside window, Quinn's form casting a shadow over her. She wasn't dreaming anymore.

Slightly disoriented, Santana sat up, her heart racing from being woken suddenly. Her tired eyes caught a glance at her alarm clock, and once she saw that it was past 1 in the morning, she became even more nervous as to why Quinn was standing over her bed. She didn't smell smoke or hear a prowler, and her half-unconscious mind couldn't think of any other pressing emergencies offhand.

"What's the matter?" she asked warily, propping herself up against the headboard of her bed.

"Oh, nothing, nothing really, I just wanted to know – did you call the landlord yet about reserving that apartment?" Quinn sputtered, suddenly looking regretful.

Santana felt a pang in her chest. She wasn't sure where this was going yet, but she had a sinking suspicion she might not like it. "Um, no, not yet. I was going to tomorrow. Why?"

Quinn's near-emerald eyes were darting from side to side, visibly piecing together what she was going to say next in her head. "Well, I was thinking – you know what? This can wait until morning, it's not even that important…"

"Quinn," Santana interjected half-amused, yet sternly, "You obviously want to talk about whatever this is since you woke me up in the middle of the night to bring it up. Just tell me, otherwise neither of us will end up getting any sleep and you know it."

When the blonde sat on the farthest corner of the bed and exhaled deeply, Santana really knew to be worried. As far as speaking her mind was concerned, Quinn had always been a fairly straight-shooter. She only seemed to pause in the rare moments that she was unsure of herself, or when she needed to find a way to break something difficult gently.

The suspense shortening her patience, Santana spoke up in Quinn's silence. "Do you not want me to get the apartment?"

Quinn released a gust of pent-up breath that answered the question without anything needing to be said. Nonetheless, she still spoke. "After you told me about the apartment, all these thoughts started rushing through my head –"

Before she could say any more, Santana cut in. "You really don't need to explain. I understand," she said, thinking any elaboration might only further intensify her already hurt and irritable state.

"No," Quinn insisted, her serious, misty eyes bearing directly into Santana's, "I really do need to explain."

With a deep sigh, Santana sat up further, reaching for her nightstand where she flicked on the lamp, pulling her knees to her chest semi-defensively. "I'm listening."

Quinn paused to get her bearings before starting where she had been interrupted. "After you told me about the apartment, all these thoughts started rushing through my head. I mean, I knew that I was moving out and that you were moving out, but it didn't really become real for some reason until you mentioned moving into my new building. When you said all of that stuff about being in each other's lives and staying in each other's lives, I just felt so overwhelmed with all of these emotions. It's all I've been able to think about all night."

"You don't want me to live so close right now?" Santana asked in a way that sounded more like a statement.

"No," Quinn said, aloud this time, "I want you to move in with me instead."

Santana felt her eyes widen involuntarily, and she covertly pinched herself under the blanket to make sure she wasn't still dreaming. Her hesitation left an incredibly vulnerable-looking Quinn staring back at her, silently pleading with her to say something. "What?" was the best she could do, and she was surprised she had even gotten out that much.

Quinn's posture tensed as her eyes alternated back and forth between Santana and the invisible pattern she was drawing on the comforter with her finger. "I don't know, I mean, I can't speak for you, but… just the thought of us living separate lives in separate apartments, even in the same building, really hit me. Like, just a sense of finality or reality, or whatever you want to call it, but either way, the thought of losing you just wrecked me." She meekly allowed her eyes to meet Santana's before continuing to speak. "I know this out of the blue, and I'm honestly not really expecting any certain answer from you or for you to even feel the same way–"

"Hey, whoa, are you kidding?" Santana asked in a gentle tone before scooting closer to Quinn and taking both hands in her own. "Of course I feel the same way, I've been trying every way I can to let you know that I'm still fucking crazy in love with you without making you feel like I was pushing or in case you had moved on. I've never wanted to live apart, and that's why I had to see if I could get a spot in your building so that if nothing else I could still see you every day!" As she spoke, she noticed a wavering smile on the other girl's lips, unsure why in what was easily the happiest moment of her past few months, the other girl looked so sad. "Hey… why do you look like you're about to cry? This is a good thing, right?"

Quinn breathed deeply as she briefly tried then quickly failed to keep her composure, just like Santana knew she would. Over the span of 9 years, they had shared countless intimate, soul-exposing moments, even though they did tend to come few and far between, but even now, there was something new and foreign in what Santana was seeing in the girl she met as a Brownie Scout so many years ago.

"I'm just… _so scared_," she respired shakily, her meek and cautious tone sending a chill down Santana's spine before a proverbial hand shoved her forward to step up.

Santana transferred from clutching Quinn's hands to gently cupping the sides of her face, using her thumbs to dissolve chilled tears against fair skin. "I know," she all-but-whispered, "I know, and I understand, but I promise you that the last thing you have to be is scared. It's going to be different this time. I'm going to be there, every day, always. No more pointless arguments, no more fighting to be first place in my life."

Continuing the sentence she started before, Quinn continued to speak. "And I'm… just so, so sorry!"

Brow furrowed, Santana scanned the other girl's eyes confusedly. "Why are you sorry, Babe?" the familiar pet name escaped her lips before she could even think to stop it, as she reverted to her secondhand nature to comfort the blonde in times of sorrow.

"I just feel so guilty for being so hurt and stubborn and scared to give in. If I had just been stronger, I never would have left and we never would have lost all this time!" Quinn lamented, tears garbling her speech as she visibly rid herself of longtime buried emotions and sentiments.

More tightly this time, Santana gripped and tilted Quinn's chin, demanding both her gaze and attention as she cleared the threat of a cry from her throat and spoke intently. "Hey, listen to me," she began, matching the back-and-forth pattern of misty hazel eyes with her own dark brown, allowing a hint of levity to mingle with her vocal cords, "You know how much I hate to admit that I'm wrong and you're right, and how I'll avoid it at pretty much all costs, but you were definitely right to take some time away from me." She took a moment to revel in the faint laugh that Quinn emitted, and continued to speak. "I'm stubborn, I like to be right, and my old habits die hard, and it's usually because underneath all of my bullshit, I cling tightly to my good intentions, even if I'm doing a sucky job at conveying them, and I have to say that if I didn't have to come face-to-face with the possibility of life without you, I probably would have never changed. I would have kept telling myself that I was doing all this work for a reason and that you would have to understand in the long run when we were able to do well for ourselves and that even when I was cruel to you, you must still know how much I love you. And I was wrong. It took me hating every single second of my time away from you to realize that regardless of what good I thought I was doing, it was time to step up and stop being two different people, and instead be one stable person you could count on. And I realized that if we were ever going to work again, that you needed some time to heal and trust and stand on your own two feet before becoming the one stable person that _I_can count on. So, you have no reason to feel guilty, at all. Got it?"

With tear-brimmed eyes, Quinn nodded quickly before giving way to more sobs, prodding Santana even more deeply within her core to do something to console her. She could only recall a few instances where she saw Quinn lose composure to this extent, and each time she felt both eager, yet unsure how to help.

"Quinn," she attempted, rubbing her back with an open, soothing palm, "what can I do to make you feel better?" But before Quinn could answer, an idea hit immediately as she moved to her feet and stood beside the bed. Pulling a hand away from the crying girl's face, she held it mid-air and bowed forward slightly. "May I have this dance?"

"Wha – now? I'm a mess, and we can't put on any music, the neighbors will kill us," Quinn protested, slinging away tears with the back of her hand.

Santana wasn't going to take no for an answer. "First of all, Quinn Fucking Fabray is _never_ a mess, as you know, and don't worry about the neighbors. I've got this one covered."

Supporting Quinn's emotionally exhausted body by securely gripping her waist, Santana took a minute to gather her breathing as the arms she missed so much draped around her neck. Nestling her chin in the base of Quinn's neck, she began to sing softly into her ear:

_I guess this time you're really leaving__  
__I heard your suitcase say good bye__  
__Well, as my broken heart lies bleeding__  
__You say, "true love is suicide"._

_You say you've cried a thousand rivers__  
__And now you're swimming for the shore__  
__You left me drowning in my tears__  
__And you won't save me anymore_

_Now, I'm praying to God you'll give me one more chance, girl_

_I'll be there for you__  
__These 5 words I swear to you__  
__When you breathe, I wanna be the air for you__  
__I'll be there for you_

_I'd live and I'd die for you__  
__I'd steal the sun from the sky for you__  
__Words can't say what love can do__  
__I'll be there for you_

_I know you know we've had some good times__  
__Now they have their own hiding place__  
__Well I can promise you tomorrow__  
__But I can't buy back yesterday_

_And, Baby you know my hands are dirty__  
__But I wanted to be your valentine__  
__I'll be the water when you get thirsty, Baby__  
__When you get drunk, I'll be the wine_

_I'll be there for you__  
__These 5 words I swear to you__  
__When you breathe, I wanna be there air for you__  
__I'll be there for you_

_I'd live and I'd die for you__  
__I'd steal the sun from the sky for you__  
__Words can't say what love can do__  
__I'll be there for you_

_I wasn't there when you were happy__  
__And I wasn't there when you were down__  
__I didn't mean to miss your birthday, Baby__  
__I wish I'd seen you blow those candles out_

_I'll be there for you__  
__These 5 words I swear to you__  
__When you breathe, I wanna be there air for you__  
__I'll be there for you_

_I'd live and I'd die for you__  
__I'd steal the sun from the sky for you__  
__Words can't say what love can do__  
__I'll be there for you_

Judging by the small pool of tears that failed to spill over the crook of her shoulder, Santana gathered that Quinn had stopped crying, and when she reluctantly lifted her own head up and backward to lock eyes, she saw that she had guessed correctly. She really pulled it off this time.

"That was beautiful," Quinn praised softly, a glowing blush enveloping her features. "I've never heard that song before, where did it come from?"

Santana smirked slightly as the dream she had just been woken from gained a much deeper significance. "It's just been on my mind a lot lately. It pretty much covers everything I've been wanting to say to you."

"Well, I loved it," Quinn replied, "I always love it when you sing."

"Thank you," Santana accepted graciously. A moment of at last comfortable silence filled the air.

Quinn swallowed hard. "I have to be honest, I'm still a little scared."

"I know," Santana nodded, knowing deep down that there was still work to be done. "I am a little, too. But this time you won't have to be scared alone. I'm gonna be there. You know I never sing anything I don't mean."

A less-guarded smile spread across Quinn's face as she took a slow step forward. "So, um… does that song have any more verses?"

A glowing smile completely owned Santana's features as she pulled Quinn's body against hers once again. "Eh," she interjected, "I can make some up if it means you'll dance with me."

And she did. She really pulled it off this time.

**END.**


End file.
